She's  All  THE -- 
—  World  TO  Me 


f»p 


She's  All  the  World 
to  Me 


By 
HALL  CALNE 

Author  of 

^-^  The  Bondsman,''   ''The  Deevisier,''    **  21ke 

Shadow  of  a  Crime,  ' '  A  Son  of 

Ha  gar,''  etc^  etc. 


CHICAGO 

DONOHUE,  HENNEBERRY  &  CO. 

407-429  DEARBORN  STREET 


DONOHUE  &  hfiNNEBERRY 

printers  and  binders 

Chicago 


PROEM. 

This  is  the  story  of  how  a  woman's'  love  tri- 
umphed over  neglect  and  wrong,  and  of  how  the 
unrequited  passion  in  the  great  heart  of  a  boy 
trod  its  devious  paths  in  the  way  to  death,  until 
it  stood  alone  with  its  burden  of  sin  before  God 
and  the  pitiless  deep. 

.In  the  middle  of  the  Irish  Sea  there  is,  as  every 
one  knows,  an  island  which  for  many  ages  has 
had  its  own  people,  with  their  own  language  and 
laws,  their  own  judges  and  governor,  their  own 
lords  and  kings,  their  own  customs  and  supersti- 
tions, their  own  proverbs  and  saws,  their  own 
ballads  and  songs.  On  the  west  coast  of  the  Isle 
of  Alan  stands  the  town  of  Peel.  Though  clean 
and  sweet,  it  is  not  even  yet  much  of  a  place  to 
look  at,  with  its  nooks  and  corners,  its  blind  lanes 
and  dark  alleys,  its  narrow,  crooked,  crabbed 
streets.  Thirty-five  years  ago  it  was  a  poor  little 
hungry  fishing  port,  chill  and  cheerless  enough^ 

2054310    , 


4  PROEM. 

staring  straight  out  over  miles  and  miles  of  blgak 
sea.  To  the  north  of  Peel  stretches  a  broad 
shore ;  to  the  south  lies  the  harbor  with  a  rocky 
headland  and  bare  mountain  beyond.  In  front 
— divided  from  the  mainland  by  a  narrow  strait 
— is  a  rugged  island  rock,  on  which  stand  the 
ruins  of  a  castle.  At  the  back  rises  a  gentle 
slope  dotted  over  with  gray  houses. 

This  is  the  scene  of  the  following  histor}^  of 
the  love  that  was  won  and  the  love  that  was  lost, 
of  death  that  had  no  sting  and  the  grave  that  had 
no  victory.  Wild  and  eerie  as  the  coast  on 
which  I  learned  it  is  this  story  of  love  and  death  ; 
but  it  is  true  as  Truth,  and  what  it  owes  to  him 
who  writes  it  now  with  feelings  deeper  than  he 
can  say  is  less  than  it  asks  of  all  by  whom  it  is 
read  in  sympathy  and  simple  faith. 


SHE^S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  HE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

MYLKEA    BALLADHOO. 

The  season  was  early  summer;  the  year  1850. 
The  morning  had  been  bright  and  calm,  but  a 
mist  had  crept  up  from  the  sea  as  the  day  wore 
on,  and  the  night,  when  it  came,  was  close,  dark 
and  dum.b.  Laden  with  its  salt  scent,  the  dank 
vapor  had  enveloped  an  old  house  on  the  ''brew" 
behind  the  town.  It  was  a  curious  place — ugly, 
long,  loose,  and  straggling.  One  might  say  it 
was  a  featureless  and  irresolute  old  fabric.  0\  er 
the  porch  was  printed,  "Prepare  to  meet  thy 
God.*'  It  was  called  Balladhoo,  and,  with  iis 
lands,  it  had  been  for  ages  the  holding  of  the 
]Mylreas,  an  ancient  Manx  family,  once  rich  and 
consequently  revered,  now  notoriously  k-ss 
wealthy  and  proportionately  more  fallible. 

In  this  house  there  was  a  parlor  that  faced  the 
bay  and  looked  out  towards  the  old  castle  and 


6  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WOULD  TO  ME. 

the  pier  at  the  mouth  of  the  harbor.  Over  the 
mantel-piece  was  carved  "God's  Providence  is 
Mine  Inheritance."  One  might  add  that  it  was 
a  melancholy  old  mansion. 

A  gentleman  was  busy  at  a  table  in  the  bay- 
window  sorting  and  arranging  papers  by  the 
last  glimmering  daylight.  He  was  a  man  of 
sixty-five,  stout,  yet  flaccid  and  slack,  and  wear- 
ing a  suit  of  coarse  blue  homespun  that  lay 
loosely  upon  him.  His  white  hair  hung  about 
a  face  that  bespoke  an  unusual  combination  of 
traits.  The  eyes  and  forehead  were  full  of  be- 
nevolence, but  the  mouth  was  alternately  strong 
and  weak,  harsh  and  tender,  uncertain  whether 
the  proper  function  of  its  mobile  corners  was  to 
turn  up  in  laughter  or  down  in  disdain. 

This  was  Evan  IMylrea,  member  of  the  House 
of  Keys,  Harbor  Commissioner,  and  boat-owner, 
philanthropist  and  magistrate,  coroner,  con- 
stable, and  "local"  for  the  Wesleyan  body,  and 
commonly  known  by  his  surname  coupled  with 
the  name  of  his  estate — Mylrea  Balladhoo. 
Mylrea  Balladhoo  did  not  belie  his  face.  He 
was  the  sort  of  man  who  gives  his  dog  one  blow 
for  snapping  at  his  hand,  and  then  two  more  for 
not  coming  back  to  be  caressed.  Rightly  un- 
derstood, the  theory  of  morals  that  an  act  like 
this  implies  tells  the  whole  story  of  Mylrea's  life 
and  character,  so  far  as  either  of  these  concerns 


SEE'S  ALL  TEE  WORLD  TO  ME.  7 

the  present  history.  It  was  the  rule  on  which 
this  man,  now  grown  old,  had  lived  with  the 
young,  reckless,  Hght-hearted,  thoughtless,  beau- 
tiful, and  darhng  wife  whom  he  had  brought 
from  England  thirty  years  ago,  and  buried  at 
home  five  years  after^vards.  It  was  the  principle 
on  which  he  had  brought  up  her  only  son. 

Just  now  there  came  from  some  remote  part 
of  the  house  the  most  doleful  wails  that  ever 
arrested  mortal  ears.  At  times  they  resembled 
the  scream  of  the  cormorant  as  he  wheels  over 
a  rock  at  sea.  At  other  times  they  recalled 
more  precisely  the  plaintiiT  appeal  of  the  tailless 
tabby  when  she  is  pressed  hard  for  time  and 
space.  IMylrea  Balladhoo  was  conscious  of  these 
noises.  Glancing  once  at  his  face,  you  might 
have  thought  it  had  dropped  to  a  stern  frown. 
Glancing  twice,  you  must  have  seen  that  it  had 
risen  to  a  broad  grin.  One  might  certainly  say 
that  this  was  a  grewsome  dwelhng. 

There  was  a  loud  banging  of  doors,  the  distant 
screeches  were  suddenly  abridged;  there  v.as 
the  tread  of  an  uncertain  foot  in  the  passage 
without,  the  door  opened,  and  an  elderly  man 
entered,  carr}-ing  a  lamp,  which  he  placed  on 
the  table.  It  was  James  Quark,  the  gardener, 
commonly  called  Jemmy  Balladhoo.  That  men- 
tion of  the  cormorant  was  lucky;  this  man's  eyes 
had  just  the  sea-bird's  wild  %tare.     The  two  little 


8  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

gray-green  globes  of  fire  were,  however,  set  in 
a  face  of  the  most  flabby  amiabihty.  His  hair, 
which  was  thin  and  weak,  travelled  straight 
down  his  forehead  due  for  his  eyes.  In  one  hand 
he  carried  something  by  the  neck,  which,  as  he 
entered,  he  made  late  and  futile  efforts  to  con- 
ceal behind  his  back. 

''It's  Mr.  Kerruish  Kinvig,  sir,  that's  coming 
up  to  see  you,"  said  the  man  in  a  meek  voice. 

''Show  him  in,"  said  Mylrea  Balladhoo;  ''and, 
Jemmy,"  he  added,  shouting  in  the  man's  ear, 
*'for  mercy's  sake  take  that  fiddle  to  the  barn." 

"Take  him  to  the  barn?"  said  Jemmy,  with 
an  affrighted  stare,  ''\^^hy,  it's  coming  here  he 
is,  this  very  minute." 

"The  fiddle,  the  fiddle!"  shouted  Mr.  Mylrea. 
"I  always  had  my  doubts  about  the  music  that's 
in  it,  and  now  I  see  there's  none  at  all." 

Jemmy  took  himself  off,  carrying  his  fiddle 
very  tenderly  in  both  hands.  He  was  all  but 
stone  deaf,  poor  fellow,  and  had  never  yet 
known  the  full  enjoyment  of  his  own  music. 
That's  why  he  was  so  liberal  of  it  with  people 
more  happily  endowed. 

A  big  blustering  fellow  then  dashed  into  the 
parlor  without  ceremony. 

"Balladhoo,"  he  shouted,  in  a  voice  that  rang 
through  the  house,  "why  don't  you   have  the 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  ^YORLD  TO  ME.  9 

life  of  that  howling  demon?     Here,  take   my 
clasp-knife  at  it  and  silence  it  forever." 

"It's  gone  to  the  barn,"  said  Mylrea  Ballad- 
hoo,  quietly,  in  reply  to  those  bloodthirsty  pro- 
posals. 

The  new-comer,  Keraiish  Kinvig,  was  a  pros- 
perous net-maker  in  Peel,  and  a  thorn  in  the 
side  of  every  public  official  within  a  radius  of 
miles.  The  joy  of  his  life  was  to  have  a  delight- 
ful row  with  a  magistrate,  a  coroner,  a  commis- 
sioner, or  perhaps  a  parson  by  preference.  When 
there  was  never  a  public  meeting  to  be  inter- 
rupted, never  a  'Vestry"  to  be  broken  up,  Ker- 
ruish  Kinvig  became  as  flat  and  stale  as  an  old 
dog,  and  w^as  forced  to  come  up  and  visit  his 
friend  T^Iylrea  Balladhoo,  just  by  way  of  keeping 
his  hand  in. 

On  the  present  occasion  he  had  scarcely  seated 
himself,  when  he  leaped  up,  rushed  to  the  win- 
dow, peered  into  the  night,  and  shouted  that  the 
light  on  the  harbor  pier  was  out  once  more.  He 
declared  that  this  was  the  third  time  within  a 
month;  prophesied  endless  catastrophies ;  didn't 
know  for  his  part  what  in  the  name  of  common- 
sense  the  commissioners  V\-ere  about;  could 
swear  that  smuggling  was  going  on  under  their 
very  noses. 

*T'll  have  the  law  on  the  lot  of  you,"  bellowed 
Kinvig  at  the  full  pitch  of  his  voice,  and  mean- 


10  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

time  he  helped  himself  to  the  whiskey  on  the 
table,  and  lilled  his  pipe  from  the  domestic  bowl. 
''It's  the  truth,  Fll  fling  you  all  out,"  he  shouted 
through  a  cloud  of  smoke. 

"Eh,  you'll  have  your  fling,"  replied  the  un- 
perturbed Mylrea. 

Then,  going  to  the  door,  the  master  of  Ballad- 
hoo  recalled  the  gardener. 

From  the  subsequent  conversation  it  appeared 
that,  to  prevent  illicit  trading,  the  Imperial  Gov- 
ernment had  been. compelled  to  station  a  cutter 
in  every  harbor  of  the  island;  that  the  cutter  sta- 
tioned at  Peel,  having  come  by  some  injury  a 
month  ago,  had  been  removed  to  England  for 
repairs,  and  had  not  yet  been  brought  back. 
Kerruish  Kinvig  declared  that  some  gang  of 
scoundrels,  perceiving  the  incompetence  of  the 
home  officials,  were  availing  themselves  of  the 
absence  of  the  Government  ship  to  run  vessels 
laden  with  contraband  goods  under  the  cover  of 
the  darkness. 

Jemmy  came  back,  and  Mr.  Mylrea  sent  him 
to  fetch  his  son  Christian. 

Jemmy  went  off  for  that  purpose. 

Some  talk  of  the  young  man  then  ensued  be- 
tween his  father  and  Kinvig.  It  transpired  that 
Christian  had  had  a  somewhat  questionable  ca- 
reer— was  his  fathers  only  son,  and  had  well- 
nigh  ruined  the  old  man  with  debts  contracted 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  n 

during  a  mysterious  absence  of  six  years.  Chris- 
tian had  just  returned  home,  and  ^lylrea  Ballad- 
hoo,  stern  on  the  outside,  tender  at  the  core, 
loving  his  son  as  the  one  thing  left  to  him  to 
love,  had  forgiven  evers'thing — disgrace,  ingrati- 
tude, and  impoverishment — and  taken  back  the 
prodigal  without  a  word. 

And,  in  truth,  there  was  something  so  win- 
some in  the  young  fellow's  reckless,  devil-may- 
care  indifference  that  he  got  at  the  right  side  of 
people's  affections  in  spite  of  themselves.  Only 
those  vrho  come  close  to  this  type  of  character 
can  recognize  the  rift  of  weakness  or  wilfulness, 
or  it  may  be  of  selfishness,  that  runs  through  the 
fair  vein  of  so  much  good-nature.  And  if  Myl- 
rea  Balladhoo  saw  nothing,  v^-ho  then  should 
complain? 

Now,  Kerruish  Kinvig  was  just  as  fond  of 
Christian  as  anybody  else,  but  that  was  no  just 
cause  and  impediment  why  he  should  hold  his 
peace  as  to  the  young  man's  manifold  weak- 
nesses,    So  it  was — 

''Look  here,  Balladhoo,  I've  something  to  say 
about  that  fine  son  of  yours,  and  it's  middling 
strange  too." 

"Drop  it,  Kerruish,"  muttered  iMylrea. 

''So  I  will,  but  it's  into  your  ear  I'll  drop  it. 
Do  you  know  he's  hanging  round  one  of  my 
net-makers — eh  ?'' 


12  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

"You're  fond  of  a  spell  at  the  joking,  Ker- 
ruish,  but  in  a  general  way,  you  know,  a  man 
doesn't  like  to  look  like  a  fool.  You've  got  too 
much  fun  in  you,  Kerruish;  that's  your  fault, 
and  I've  always  said  so." 

There  was  a  twinkle  in  tlie  old  man's  eye,  but 
it  went  off  like  summer  lightning.  "Who  is 
she?"  he  asked,  in  another  tone. 

"Mona  Cregeen  they're  calling  her,"  said  Kin- 
vig. 

"What  is  she?" 

"Don't  I  tell  you — one  of  my  net-makers!" 
thundered  Kinvig. 

"Who  are  her  people?  W^here  does  she  come 
from?  What  do  you  know  about  her?  What 
has  Christian  had  to  say  to  her — " 

"Hold  on;  that's  a  middling  tidy  lot  to  begin 
with,"  shouted  Kinvig. 

Then  it  was  explained  that  Mona  Cregeen  was 
a  young  woman  of  perhaps  three-and-twenty, 
who  had  recently  come  to  Peel  from  somewhere 
in  the  south  of  the  island,  accompanied  by  her 
aged  mother  and  little  sister,  a  child  of  five, 
closely  resembling  her. 

Jemmy,  the  gardener,  returned  to  say  that 
Christian  was  not  at  home;  left  an  hour  ago; 
said  he  would  be  back  before  bed-time. 

"Ah!  it's  the  'Jo^b'  Herrings'  he's  off  to,"  said 


8HE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  13 

Kinvig.  The  "Jo^^y  Herrings''  was  a  low  hovel 
of  an  inn  down  in  the  town. 

"As  I  say,  you've  a  fine  feeling  for  the  fun, 
Kerruish,"  said  ^iylrea;  "J^^^^y^  P^^^  o^  your 
coat  quick.  You  have  to  carry  a  message  to  the 
harbor-master.  It  can't  wait  for  Z\Iaster  Chris- 
tian." 

Now  Jemmy  Balladhoo  had,  as  we  have  seen, 
one  weakness,  but  it  was  not  work.  He  remem- 
bered quite  opportunely  that  there  was  a  boy  in 
the  kitchen  who  had  just  come  up  on  an  errand 
from  the  town,  and  must  of  course  go  back 
again.  It  was  quite  an  inspiration,  but  none 
the  less  plainly  evident  that  the  boy  was  the  very 
person  to  carry  the  message  to  the  harbor-mas- 
ter. 

"Who  is  he,"  shouted  Kerruish  Kinvig. 

"Danny  Fayle,"  answered  Jemmy. 

"Pshaw!  he'll  never  get  there,"  bawled  Kinvig. 

"Bring  him  up,"  said  ^lylrea  Balladhoo. 

A  minute  later,  a  fisher-lad  of  eighteen  sham- 
bled into  the  room.  You  might  have  said  he 
was  long  rather  than  tall.  He  wore  a  guernsey 
and  fumbled  with  a  soft  blue  seaman's  cap  in 
one  hand.  His  fair  hair  clustered  in  tangled 
curls  over  his  face,  which  was  sweet  and  comely, 
but  had  a  simple  vacant  look  from  a  lagging 
lower  lip. 

Danny  was  an  orphan,  and  had  been  brought 


14      SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

Up  none  too  tenderly  by  an  uncle  and  aunt.  The 
uncle,  Bill  Kisseck,  was  admiral  of  the  fishing- 
fleet,  and  master  of  a  fishing-lugger  belonging 
to  Mr.  Mylrea.  To-morrow  was  to  be  the  first 
day  of  the  herring  season,  and  it  was  relative  to 
that  event  that  Danny  had  been  sent  up  to  Bal- 
ladhoo.  The  lad  received  from  Mr.  Mylrea,  in 
his  capacity  as  harbor  commissioner,  a  message 
of  stern  reoroof  and  warning,  v/hich  he  was  to 
convey  to  the  official  whose  lack  of  watchfulness 
had  allowed  the  light  on  the  harbor  pier  to  go 
out. 

''Run  straight  to  his  house,  Danny,  my  lad," 
said  Mylrea  Balladhoo. 

''And  don't  go  cooling  your  heels  round  that 
cottage  of  the  Cregeen's,"  put  in  Kerruisli  Kin- 
vig. 

A  faint  smile  that  had  rested  like  a  ray  of  pale 
sunshine  on  the  lad's  simple  face  suddenly  van- 
ished. He  hung  his  head,  touched  his  foreh^^ad 
with  the  hand  holding  the  cap,  and  dis^ppc^irr^d. 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WOULD  TO  ME.  ib 


CHAPTER  II. 

IN  PEELE  CASTLE. 

When  Danny  reached  the  outside  of  the  house, 
the  night  was  even  more  dark  and  dumb  than 
before.  He  turned  to  the  right  under  tlie  hill 
known  as  the  Giant's  Fingers,  and  took  the  cliff 
road  to  the  town.  The  deep  boom  of  the  wa- 
ters roUing  slowly  on  the  sand  below  came  up 
to  him  through  the  dense  air.  He  could  hear 
the  little  sandpiper  screaming  at  Orry's  Head 
across  the  bay.  The  sea-swallow  shot  past  him, 
too,  with  its  low  mournful  cry.  Save  for  these, 
everything  was  still. 

Danny  had  walked  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile, 
when  he  paused  for  a  moment  at  the  gate  of  a 
cottage  that  stood  halfway  down  the  hill  to  the 
town.  There  was  a  light  in  the  kitchen,  and  from 
where  he  stood  in  the  road  Danny  could  see 
who  were  within.  As  if  by  an  involuntary  move- 
ment, his  cap  was  lifted  from  his  head  and  fum- 
bled in  his  fingers,  while  his  eyes  gazed  yearn- 
ingly in  at  the  curtainless  windov;.  Then  he 
remembered  the  harsh  word  of  Kerruish  Kin- 


16  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME, 

vig,  and  started  off  again  more  rapidly.  It  was 
as  though  he  had  been  kneeHng  at  a  fair  shrine 
when  a  cruel  hand  befouled  and  blurred  it. 

Danny  was  superstitious.  He  was  full  to  the 
throat  of  fairy  lore  and  stories  of  witchcraft. 
The  night  was  dark;  the  road  was  lonely;  hardly 
a  sound  save  that  of  his  own  footsteps  broke  the 
stillness,  and  the  ghostly  memories  would  arise. 
To  banish  them  Danny  began  to  whistle,  and, 
failing  with  that  form  of  musical  society,  to  sing. 
His  selection  of  a  song  was  not  the  happiest  un- 
der the  circumstances.  Oddly  enough,  it  was 
the  doleful  ballad  of  Myle  Charaine.  Danny 
sang  it  in  Alanx,  but  here  is  a  stave  of  it  in  the 
lusty  tones  of  the  fine  old  "Lavengro" — 

"Oh,  Myle  Charaine,  where  got  you  your  gold? 

Lone,  lione,  you  have  left  me  here; 
Oh,  not  in  the  Curragh,  deep  under  the  mould — 
Lone,  lone,  and  void  of  cheer," 

There  was  not  much  cheer  that  Danny  could 
get  out  of  Myle  Charaine's  company,  but  he 
could  not  at  the  moment  think  of  any  ballad 
hero  who  was  much  more  heartsome.  He  had 
a  good  step  of  the  road  to  go  yet.  Somehow 
the  wild  legend  of  the  Moddey  Dhoo  would 
creep  up  into  Danny's  mind.  In  the  days  when 
the  old  castle  was  garrisoned,  the  soldiers  in  the 
guard-room  were  curious  about  a  strange  black 
dog  that  came  every  night  and  lay  in  their  midst. 


SHE'S  ALL  TEE  WORLD  TO  ME.  17 

"It's  a  devil,"  said  one.  'Til  follow  it  to  see/' 
said  another.  When  the  dog  rose  to  go  the 
intrepid  soldier  went  out  after  it.  His  comrades 
tried  to  prevent  him.  "1*11  follow  it,"  he  said, 
*'if  it  leads  to  hell."  A  minute  afterwards  there 
was  an  unearthly  scream;  the  soldier  rushed 
back  pale  as  a  corpse,  and  with  great  staring 
eyes.  He  said  not  a  word,  and  died  within  the 
hour.  The  ^.loddey  Dhoo  kept  tomienting 
poor  Danny  to-night.  So  he  set  up  the  song 
afresh,  and  to  heighten  the  sportive  soul  of  it,  he 
began  to  run.  Once  having  taken  to  his  heels, 
Danny  ran  as  if  the  black  dog  itself  had  been 
behind  him.  By  the  time  he  reached  the  town 
he  was  fairly  spent.  j\Iyle  Charaine  and  the  Mod- 
dey  Dhoo  together  had  been  too  much  for  Dan- 
ny. \Miat  with  the  combined  exertion  of  legs 
and  lungs,  the  lad  was  perspiring  from  head  to 
foot. 

The  house  of  the  harbor-master  was  a  little 
ivy-covered  cottage  that  stood  on  the  east  end  of 
the  quay,  near  the  bridge  that  crossed  the  river. 
The  harbor-master  himself  was  an  unmarried 
elderly  man,  who  enjoyed  the  curious  distinction 
of  having  always  worn  short  petticoats.  His 
full  and  correct  name  seems  almost  to  have  been 
lost.  He  was  known  as  Tommy-Bill-beg,  a  bv- 
name  which  had  at  least  a  certain  genealogical 
value  in   showing  that  the  harbor-master  was 


18  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

Tommy  the  son  of  Little  Bill.  When  Danny 
reached  the  cottage  he  knocked,  and  had  no 
answer.  Then  he  lifted  the  latch  and  walked  in. 
The  house  was  empty,  though  a  light  was  burn- 
ing. It  had  two  rooms  and  no  more.  One  was 
a  dark  closet  of  a  sleeping-crib.  The  other,  the 
living  room,  was  choked  with  nearly  every  con- 
ceivable article  of  furniture  and  species  of  do- 
mestic ornament.  Shells,  fish-bones,  bits  of 
iron  and  lead  ore,  sticks  and  pipes  lay  on  tables, 
chairs,  chests,  settles,  and  corner  cupboards.  A 
three-legged  stool  stood  before  thefireplace;  and 
with  all  his  wealth  of  rickety  furniture,  this  was 
probably  the  sole  article  which  the  harbor-master 
used.  There  was  a  facetious-faced  timepiece  on 
the  mantel-piece;  and  when  folks  pitied  the  iso- 
lation of  Tommy-Bill-beg,  and  asked  him  if  he 
never  felt  lonely,  he  always  replied,  **Not  while 
I  hear  the  clock  tick."  But  Tommy-Bill-beg 
had  not  heard  the  clock  tick  for  twenty  years. 
He  resembled  Jemmy  Quark  in  being  almost 
stone-deaf,  and  had  a  further  bond  of  union  with 
the  gardener  of  Balladhoo  in  being  musical.  He 
played  no  instrument,  however,  except  his  voice, 
which  he  believed  to  be  of  the  finest  quality  and 
compass.  The  harbor-master  was  wofully  wrong 
as  to  the  former,  but  right  as  to  the  latter;  he 
had  a  voice  like  a  rasp,  and  as  loud  as  a  fog-horn. 
Printed  copies  of  ballads  were  pinned  up  on  vari- 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WOULD  TO  ME.  19 

ous  parts  of  the  wall  of  his  kitchen.  Tommy- 
Bill-beg  could  not  read  a  line;  but  he  would 
rather  have  died  than  allow  that  this  was  so,  and 
he  never  sang  except  from  print. 

Danny  Fayle  knew  well  how  often  the  musi- 
cal weakness  of  the  harbor-master  was  played 
upon  by  the  Peel  men;  and  when  he  found  the 
cottage  empty  he  suspected  that  some  wags  of 
fisher-fellows  had  decoyed  Tommy-Bill-beg 
away  to  the  Jolly  Herrings  for  the  sport  of  hav- 
ing him  sing  on  this  their  last  night  ashore. 
Danny  set  off  for  the  inn,  which  was  in  Castle 
Street.  He  walked  along  the  quay,  intending 
to  turn  up  a  passage. 

The  night  seemed  darker  than  ever  now,  and 
not  a  breath  of  wind  was  stirring.  The  harbor 
on  Danny's  left  was  some  twenty  yards  across, 
and  another  twenty  yards  divided  the  main-land 
from  the  island  rock,, on  which  stood  the  ruins 
of  the  old  fortress.  The  tide  was  out,  and  the 
fishing-luggers  lay  at  secure  anchorage  on  t:ie 
shingle,  and  in  six  inches  of  mud.  The  pier  was 
straight  ahead,  and  there  the  light  should  now 
be  burning. 

As  Danny  approached  the  passage  that  led  up 
to  Castle  Street  he  heard  the  distant  rumble  of 
noisy  singing.  Yes,  it  came  from  the  Jolly  Her- 
rings beyond  quesiion,  and  Tommy-Bill-beg 
was  there  airing  his  single  vanity. 


20      SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

Danny  was  about  to  turn  up  the  passage  when, 
in  a  lull  in  the  singing,  he  thought  he  caught  the 
sound  of  voices  and  of  the  tread  of  feet.  Both 
came  from  the  rock  outside,  and  Danny  could 
not  resist  the  temptation  to  walk  on  and  listen. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  of  it.  Some  people 
were  going  up  to  the  castle.  What  could  they 
want  in  that  desolate  place  at  night,  and  thus 
late?  In  Danny's  mind  the  ancient  castle  had 
always  been  encircled  by  ghostly  imaginings. 
Perhaps  it  was  fear  that  drew  him  to  it  now. 
Probably  ordinary  common-sense  would  have 
suggested  that  Danny  should  run  off  first  to  the 
harbor-master  with  the  message  that  he  had 
been  charged  to  deliver,  but  Danny  had  neither 
part  nor  lot  in  that  ordinary  inheritance. 

Xear  the  bottom  of  the  ebb  tide  the  neck  that 
divided  the  pier  from  the  castle  could  be  forded. 
Danny  stole  down  the  pier  steps  and  crossed 
the  ford  as  noiselessly  as  he  could.  A  flight  of 
other  steps  hewn  out  of  the  rock,  went  up  from 
the  water's  edge  to  the  deep  portcullis.  Danny 
crept  up.  He  found  that  the  old  notched  and 
barred  door  leading  into  the  castle  stood  open. 
Danny  stood  and  listened.  The  footsteps  that 
he  heard  before  were  now  far  ahead  of  him.  It 
was  darkest  of  all  under  these  thick  walls.  Dan- 
ny had  to  pass  the  door^vay  of  the  rumed  guard- 
room, terrible  with  the  tradition   of   the   black 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  21 

dog.  As  he  went  by  the  door  he  turned  his 
head  towards  it  in  the  darkness.  At  that  in- 
stant he  thought  he  heard  something  stir.  He 
gasped,  but  could  not  scream.  He  stretched 
his  arms  fearfuhy  towards  the  sound.  There 
was  nothing.  All  was  still  once  more.  Only 
the  receding  footsteps  dying  away.  Danny 
thought  he  had  deceived  himself.  It  was  as 
though  he  had  heard  the  rustle  of  a  dress,  but 
it  must  have  been  the  soft  rustle  of  leaves.  Yet 
there  were  no  trees  in  the  castle. 

Danny  stepped  forward  into  the  court-yard. 
His  feet  fell  softly  on  the  grass  that  now  grew 
there.  But  he  stopped  again,  and  his  heart 
seemed  to  stand  still.  He  could  have  sworn  that 
behind  him  he  heard  a  light  stealthy  tread. 
Danny  dropped  to  his  knees,  breathless  and 
trembling. 

It  was  gone.  The  deep,  thick  boom  of  the 
sea  came  from  the  shore  far  behind,  and  the  thin, 
low  plash  of  broken  waters  from  the  rocks  be- 
neath. The  footsteps  had  ceased  now,  but 
Danny  could  hear  voices.  He  rose  to  his  feet, 
and  walked  towards  whence  they  came. 

He  found  himself  outside  the  crumbling  walls 
of  the  roofless  chapel  of  St.  Patrick.  He  heard 
noises  from  within,  and  crouched  behind  a  stone. 
Presently  a  light  was  struck.     It  lit  all  the  air 


S2  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

above  it.     Danny  crept  up  to  the  chapel  wall 
and  peered  in  at  one  of  the  lancet  windows. 

A  company  of  men  were  there,  but  he  could 
not  distinguish  their  faces.  The  single  lantern 
they  carried  was  now  turned  with  its  face  to  th  e 
ground.  One  of  them  had  a  crowbar  with  which 
he  was  prizing  up  a  stone  It  w^as  a  gravestone. 
The  men  were  tearing  open  an  old  vault. 

There  was  some  muttering,  and  one  of  the 
men  seemed  to  protest.  ''Stop!"  he  cried;  'T'm 
not  going  to  have  a  hand  in  a  job  like  this. 
I'm  bad  enough,  God  knows,  but  no  man  shall 
say  that  I  helped  to  violate  a  grave." 

Danny  shook  from  head  to  foot.  He  knew 
that  voice.  Just  then  the  sea-swallow  shot  again 
overhead,  uttermg  its-  low,  mournful  cry.  At 
the  same  instant  Danny  thought  he  heard  a  half- 
stifled  moan  not  far  from  his  side,  and  once  more 
his  ear  caught  that  soft  rustling  sound.  Quiver- 
ing in  every  limb,  he  could  not  stir.  He  must 
stand  and  be  silent.  He  clung  to  the  stone  wall 
with  convulsive  fingers. 

The  man  with  the  crowbar  laughed.  "Dowse 
that  now,"  he  said,  and  laughed  again. 

''Och,  the  timid  he  is  to  be  sure,  and  the  reli- 
gious, too,  all  at  once." 

Danny  knew^  that  voice  also,  and  knew  as  well 
that  to  utter  a  word  or  sound  at  that  moment 


SHE'S  ALL  THE   V,Ol!LD  TO  ME. 

might  be  as  much  as  his  Hfe  was  worth.     The 
men  were  raising  the  stone. 
"Here,  bear  a  hand,"  said  one. 
''Never,''  said  the  first  speaker. 
There  was  a  low,  grating  laugh.     One  of  the 
men  leaped  into  the  vault. 

*'Now,  then,  tail  on  here  more  hands.  Let's 
have  it,  quick.'' 

Then  Danny  saw  that,  lying  on  the  ground, 
was  something  that  he  had  not  observed  before. 
It  was  like  a  thick  black  roll  some  four  feet  long. 
Two  of  the  men  got  hold  of  it  to  hand  it  to  the 
man  below. 

"Come!  lay  down,  d'ye  hear?'' 
Danny's  terror  mastered  him.     He  turned  to 
run.     Then  the  man  who  had  spoken  first  cried, 
"What's  that?'' 

There  was  a  moment's  pause. 
*' What's  what?"  said  the  man  in  the  vault. 
*T'll  swear  on  my  soul  I  saw  a  woman  pass 
the  porch.'' 

A  bitter  little  laugh  followed. 
"Och,  it's  alwavs  a  woman  he's  seelns^." 
Danny  had  found  his  legs  at  last.  Flying  along 
the  grass  as  softly  as  a  lapwing,  he  reached  the 
old  gate.  Then  he  turned  and  listened.  No;  there 
was  nothing  to  show  that  he  had  been  heard. 
He  crept  down  the  steps  to  the  water's  edge. 
There  in  a  creek  he  saw  a  boat  which  he  had  not 


24  ^HE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

observed  on  going  up.  He  looked  at  the  name. 
It  was  Ben-my-Chree. 

Danny  turned  to  the  ford.  The  tide  had  risen 
a  foot  since  he  crossed,  but  he  paddled  through 
the  water  and  gained  the  pier.  Then  he  ran 
home  as  fast  as  his  long  legs  would  carry  him, 
w^et  with  sweat  and  speechless  with  dismay. 

Next  morning  Danny  remembered  that  he 
had  forgotten  all  about  the  harbor-master  and 
the  light. 

"Och,  the  cursed  young  imp  that  he  is,"  cried 
his  uncle.  Bill  Kisseck,  hitching  his  hand  into 
Danny-s  guernsey  at  the  neck,  and  steadying 
him  as  if  he  had  been  a  sack  with  an  open  mouth. 
''Aw,  the  booby;  just  taking  a  rovin'  commis- 
sion and  snappin'  his  fingers  at  the  ould  masther. 
What  dVe  think  would  a  happent  to  you,  ye 
beach-comber,  if  some  ship  had  run  ashore  and 
been  wrecked  and  scuttled  and  all  hands  lost, 
and  not  a  pound  of  cargo  left  at  her,  and  never 
a  light  on  the  pier,  and  all  along  of  you,  ye  idiot 
waistrel!" 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  25 


CHAPTER  III. 

"  MACK'REL — MACKER-EL — MACK-EE-EL.  !  " 

It  was  a  brilliant  morning.  The  sea  lay  like  a 
glass  floor,  and  the  sunshine,  like  a  million 
fairies,  danced  on  it.  The  town  looked  as  bright 
as  it  was  possible  for  Peel  to  look.  The  smoke 
was  only  beginning  to  coil  upward  from  its  chim- 
ney stacks,  and  the  streets  w^ere  yet  quiet,  when 
the  silvery  voice  of  a  child  was  heard  to  cry — 
"Sweet  violets  and  primroses  the  sweetest." 

It  was  a  little  auburn-haired  lassie  of  five, 
w^ith  ruddy  cheeks,  and  laughing  lips,  and 
sparkling  brown  eyes.  She  wore  a  clean  white 
apron  that  covered  her  skirt,  which  was  tucked 
up  and  pinned  in  fish-wife  fashion  in  front.  Her 
head  was  bare;  she  carried  a  basket  over  one 
armi.  and  a  straw  hat  that  swung  on  the  other 
hand.  The  basket  contained  flowers  which  the 
child  was  selling:  ''A  ha'penny  a  bunch,  ma'am, 
only  a  ha'penny!"  The  little  thing  was  as  bright 
as  the  sunlight  that  glistened  over  her  head. 
She  had  made  a  song  of  her  sweet  call,  and 


26  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

chanted   the   simple   words    with    a    rhythmic 
swing — 

"Sweet  violets  and  primroses  the  sweetest." 

*'Ruby,"  cried  a  gentleman  at  the  door  of  a 
house  facing  the  sea.  ''Here,  little  one,  give 
me  a  bunch  of  your  falderolls.  What?  No !  not 
falderolls?     Is  that  it,  little  one,  eh?" 

It  was  Mr.  Kerruish  Kinvig. 

The  child  pouted  prettily  and  drew  back  her 
basket. 

''What!  not  sell  to  me  this  morning.  Oh,  I  see, 
you  choose  your  customers,  you  do,  my  lady. 
But  ril  have  the  law  on  you,  I  will." 

Ruby  looked  up  fearlessly  into  the  face  of  the 
dread  iconoclast. 

"I  don't  love  you,"  she  said. 

"No — eh?     And  why  not  now?" 

"Because  you  call  the  flowers  bad  names." 

"Oh,  I  do,  do  I?  Well,  never  mind,  little 
one.     Say  we  strike  a  peace — eh?" 

"I  don't  like  people  that  strike,"  said  Ruby, 
with  averted  eyes. 

"Well,  then,  cry  a  truce — anything  you  like." 

Ruby  knew  what  crying  a  flower  or  a  fish 
meant. 

"Here,  now,  little  one,  here's  a  penny;  that's 
double  wages,  you  know.  Don't  you  think  the 
law  would  uphold  me  if  I  asked  for  a — " 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  27 

"A  what?"  asked  the  child,  with  innocent  eyes. 

''Well,  say  a  kiss." 

The  bargain  was  concluded  and  the  purchase 
ratified.  In  another  minute  the  little  feet  were 
tripping  away,  and  from  a  side  street  came  the 
silvery  voice  that  sang — 

"Sweet  violets  and  primroses  the  sweetest." 

At  the  next  corner  the  lassie's  childlike  tones 
were  suddenly  drowned  by  a  lustier  voice  which 
cried  "Mack'rel!  :\Iacker— el!  Fine,  ladies- 
fresh,  ladies— and  beUies  as  big  as  bishops'— 
Mack — er — el!'' 

It  was  Danny  Fayle  with  a  board  on  his  head 
containing  his  last  instalment  of  the  season's, 
mackerel.  When  the  two  street-venders  came 
together  they  stopped. 

''Aw  now,  the  fresh  you're  looking  this  morn- 
ing, Ruby  veg — as  fresh  as  a  dewdrop,  my 
chree !" 

The  little  one  lifted  her  eyes   and  laughed. 
Then  she  plunged  her  hand  into  her  basket  and  , 
brought  out  a  bunch  of  wild  roses. 
"That's  for  you,  Danny,"  she  said. 
'"'Och,  for  me  is  it  now?     Aw,  and  is  it  for 
me  it  is?"  said  Danny,  with  wondering  eyes. 
"The  clean  ruined  it  would  be  in  half  a  minute, 
though,  at  the  likes  of  me,  Ruby  veg.     Keep 
it  for  vourself.  woman."     Louder:  "^^lack'rel — 


28  SEE'S  ALL  T  IE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

fine,  ladies — fresh,  ladles — Macker-el !''  Then 
lower:  "Aw  now,  the  sweet  and  tidy,  they'd  be 
lookin'  in  your  breast,  my  chree — the  sweet  ex- 
traordinary!'' 

The  child  looked  up  and  smiled,  looked  down 
and  pondered ;  then  half  reluctantly,  half  coquet- 
tishly,  fixed  the  flowers  in  her  bosom. 

*'Danny,  I  love  you,"  she  said,  simply. 

The  object  of  Ruby's  affection  blushed  vio- 
lently and  was  silent 

''And  so  does  Sissy,"  added  the  little  one. 

''Mona?"  asked  Danny,  and  his  tongue  seemed 
to  cleave  to  his  mouth. 

"Yes,  and  mamma  too." 

Danny's  face,  which  had  begun  to  brighten, 
suddenly  lost  its  sunshine.  His  lower  lip  was 
lagging  wofully. 

"Yes,  Mona  and  mamma,  and — and  everv- 
body,"  said  the  child,  with  ungrudging' spon- 
taneity. 

"No,  Ruby  ven." 

Danny's  voice  was  breaking.  He  tried  to  con- 
quer this  weakness  by  shouting  aloud,  "Mack- 
er — Mack — "  Then  in  a  softer'  tone,  "Not 
everybody,  my  chree." 

"Well,"  said  the  child  in  earnest  defence, 
"everybody  except  your  uncle  Kisseck." 

"Bill?  Bill?  What  about  Bill?"  said  Danny, 
hoarsely. 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  29 

'Why   don't   you    fight    into    him,  Danny? 
You're  a  big  boy  now,  Danny.     Why  don't  you 
fight  into  him?" 

Danny's  simple  face  grew  very  grave.  The 
soft  bkie  eyes  had  had  an  uncertain  look. 

"Did  Sissy  say  that,  Ruby  veg?" 

*'Xo,  but  she  said  Bill  Kisseck  was  a — was 
a—" 

"A  what,  Rue?" 

"A  brute — to  you,  Danny." 

The  lad's  face  trembled.  The  hanging  lower 
lip  quivered,  and  the  whole  countenance  became 
charged  with  sudden  energy.  Lifting  his  board 
from  his  head,  and  takmg  up  the  finest  of  the 
fish,  he  said, 

"Ruby,  take  this  home  to  Mona.  Here,  now; 
it's  at  the  bottom  of  your  basket  I'm  putting  it." 

"^ly  flowers,  Danny!"  cried  Ruby,  anxiously. 

"Aw,  what's  the  harm  they'll  take  at  all.  There 
— there"  (fixing  some  sea-weed  over  the  mack- 
erel)— "nice,  extraordinary- — nice,  nice!'' 

"But  what  will  your  uncle  Bill  say,  Danny?" 
asked  the  little  one,  with  the  shadow  of  fear  in 
her  eyes. 

"Bill?  Bill?  Oh,  Bill,"  said  Danny  turning 
away  his  eyes  for  a  moment.  Then,  with  an  ac- 
cess of  strength  as  he  lifted  his  board  on  to  liis 
head  and  turned  to  go,  "If  Bill  savs  anvthing, 

i'ii_rii_^> 


30  SEE'S  ALL  TEE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

''No,  don't,  Danny;  no,  don't,"  cried  Ruby, 
the  tears  rising  to  her  eyes. 

"Just  a  minute  since,"  said  Danny,  "there 
came  a  sort  of  a  flash,  hke  that"  (he  swung  one 
arm  across  his  eyes),  "and  all  of  a  sudden  I  knew 
middlin'  well  what  to  do  with  Bill." 

"Don't  fight,  Danny,"  cried  Ruby;  but  Danny 
was  gone,  and  from  another  street  came  "Mack'- 
rel — fine,  ladies — fresh,  ladies — and  bellies  as 
big  as  bishops' — Mack-er-el!" 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME,  31 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   FERST   OF    "THE   HEBEING." 

Later  in  the  day  the  final  preparations  were 
being  made  for  the  departure  of  the  herring  fleet. 
Tommy-Bill-beg,  the  harbor-master,  in  his  short 
petticoat,  was  bawling  all  over  the  quay,  first  at 
this  man  in  the  harbor  and  then  at  that.  Bill 
Kisseck  was  also  there  in  his  capacity  as  admiral 
of  the  fleet — an  insular  office  for  which  he  had 
been  duly  sworn  in,  and  for  which  he  received 
his  five  pounds  a  year.  Bill  was  a  big  black- 
bearded  creature  in  top-boots — a  relic  of  tlie 
reign  of  the  Norseman  in  ^lan.  Tommy-Bill- 
beg  was  chaffed  about  the  light  going  out  on 
the  pier.  He  looked  grave,  declared  there  was 
''something  in  it"  Something  supernatural. 
Tommy  meant.  Tommy-Bill-beg  believed  in 
his  heart  it  was  "all  along  of  the  spite  of  Gentle- 
man Johnny-' — now  a  hogy,  erst  a  thief,  who  in 
the  flesh  had  been  put  into  a  spiked  barrel  and 
rolled  over  the  pier  into  the  sea,  swearing  furi- 
ously, as  long  as  he  could  be  heard,  that  to  prove 


33      SHE'S  ALL  TEE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

his  innocence  it  was  his  fixed  intention  to  haunt 
forever  the  scene  of  his  martyrdom. 

Kerruish  Kinvig  was  standing  by,  and  heard 
the  harbor-master's  explanation  of  the  going  out 
of  the  hght 

"It's  middHng  strange,"  shouted  Kinvig,  ''that 
the  ghost  should  potter  about  only  when  the 
Government  cutter  happens  to  be  out  of  the  way, 
and  Tommy-Bill-beg  is  yelping  and  screeching 
at  the  Jolly  Herring.  I'd  have  a  law  on  such 
bogies,  and  clap  them  in  Cactle  Ruchen,"  bawled 
Kinvig,  ''and  all  the  fiddlers  and  carol-singers 
along  with  them,"  he  added. 

The  harbor-master  shook  his  head,  apparently 
more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger,  and  whispered 
Bill  Kisseck  that,  as  "the  good  ould  book"  says, 
"Bad  is  the  man  that  has  never  no  music  in  his 
sowl." 

It  was  one  of  Tommy-Bill-beg's  peculiarities 
of  mental  twist  that  he  was  full  of  quotations, 
and  never  by  any  chance  fails  to  misascribe, 
misquote,  and  misapply  them. 

The  fishing-boats  were  rolling  gently  with 
the  motion  of  the  rising  tide.  When  every- 
thing had  been  made  ready,  and  the  flood  w^as 
at  hand,  the  fishermen,  to  the  number  of  several 
hundred  men  and  boys,  trooped  off  to  the  shore 
of  the  bay.  There  they  were  joined  by  a  great 
multitude  of  women  and  children.  Presently  the 


8HE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  33 

vicar  appeared,  and,  standing  in  an  open  boat, 
he  offered  the  customary  prayer  for  the  blessing 
of  God  on  the  fishing  expedition  which  was  now 
setting  out. 

"Restore  and  continue  to  us  the  harvest  of 
the  sea!" 

And  the  men,  on  their  knees  in  the  sand,  with 
uncovered  heads,  and  faces  in  their  hats,  mur- 
mured "Yn  Meailley." 

Then  they  separated,  the  fishermen  returning 
to  their  boats. 

Bill  Kisseck  leaped  aboard  the  lugger  that  lay 
at  the  mouth  of  the  harbor.  His  six  men  fol- 
lowed him.  "See  all  clear,"  he  shouted  to  Dan- 
ny, who  sailed  with  him  as  boy.  Danny  stood 
on  the  quay  with  the  duty  of  clearing  ropes  from 
blocks,  and  then  following  in  the  dingy  that  was 
moored  to  the  steps. 

Among  the  women  who  had  come  down  to 
the  harbor  to  see  the  departure  of  the  fleet  were 
two  who  bore  no  very  close  resemblance  to  the 
great  body  of  the  townswomen.  One  was  an 
elderly  woman,  with  a  thin  sad  face.  The  other 
was  a  young  woman,  of  perhaps  two  or  three 
and  twenty,  tall  and  muscular,  with  a  pale  cast 
of  countenance,  large  brown  eyes,  and  rich  au- 
burn hair.  The  face,  though  strong  and  beau- 
tiful, was  not  radiant  with  happiness,  and  yet  it 


34      SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

recalled  very  vividly  a  glint  of  human  sunshine 
that  we  have  known  before. 

In  another  moment  little  Ruby,  red  with  run- 
ning, pranced  up  to  their  side,  crying,  "Mona, 
come  and  see  Danny  Fayle's  boat.  Here,  look, 
there ;  that  one  with  the  color  on  the  deck." 

The  admiral's  boat  was  to  carry  a  flag. 

The  two  women  were  pulled  along  by  the 
little  sprite  and  stopped  just  where  Danny  him- 
self was  untying  a  knot  in  a  rope.  Danny  rec- 
ognized them,  lifted  his  hat,  blushed,  looked 
confused,  and  seemed  for  the  moment  to  forget 
the  cable. 

'Tail  on  there!"  shouted  Bill  Kisscck  from 
the  lugger.  ''Show  a  leg  there,  if  you  don't  want 
the  rat's  tail.     D'ye  hear?" 

Danny  was  fumbling  with  his  cap.  That  poor 
lagging  lower  lip  was  giving  a  yearning  look  to 
the  lad's  simple  face.  He  muttered  some  com- 
monplace to  Mona,  and  then  dropped  his  head. 
At  that  instant  his  eye  fell  on  the  lower  part  of 
her  dress.  The  blue  serge  of  her  gown  was 
bleached  near  her  feet.  Danny,  who  could  think 
of  nothing  else  to  say,  mumbled  something  about 
the  salt  water  having  taken  the  color  out  of 
Mona's  dress.  The  girl  looked  down,  and  then 
said  quietly, 

''Yes,  I  was  caught  by  the  tide  last  night — 
I  mean  to  say,  I  was — " 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  35 

She  was  clearly  trying  to  recall  her  words,  but 
poor  Danny  had  hardly  heard  them. 

"You  cursed  booby!"  cried  Bill  Kisseck,  leap- 
ing ashore,  "prating  with  a  pack  of  women  when 
I'm  a-waiting  for  you.  Til  make  you  walk  hand- 
some over  the  bricks,  my  man." 

With  that  he  struck  Danny  a  terrible  blow 
and  felled  him. 

The  lad  got  up  abashed,  and  without  a  word 
turned  to  his  work.  Kisseck,  still  in  a  tempest 
of  wrath,  was  leaping  back  to  the  lugger,  when 
the  young  woman  stepped  up  to  him,  looked 
fearlessly  in  his  face,  seemed  about  to  speak, 
checked  herself  and  turned  away. 

Kisseck  stood  measuring  her  from  head  to 
foot  with  his  eyes,  broke  into  a  bitter  laugh,  and 
said, 

"I'm  right  up  and  down  like  a  yard  of  pump- 
water;  that's  what  I  am." 

He  jumped  aboard  again.  Danny  ran  the 
rope  from  the  blocks,  the  admiral's  boat  cleared 
away,  and  the  flag  shot  up  to  the  mast-head. 
The  other  boats  followed  one  after  one  to  the 
number  of  nearly  one  hundred.  The  bay  vras 
full  of  them. 

When  Kisseck's  boat  had  cleared  the  harbor, 
Danny  ran  down  the  steps  of  the  pier  with  eyes 
still  avc-ted  from  the  two  ^vomen  and  the  child, 


36      SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

got  into  the  dingy,  took  an  oar  and  began  to 
scull  after  it. 

"Sissy,  Sissy,"  cried  Ruby,  tugging  at  Mona's 
dress,  "look  at  Danny's  little  boat.  What's  the 
name  that  is  on  it  in  red  letters?" 

"Ben-my-Chree,"  the  young  woman  answered. 

Then  the  herring  fleet  sailed  away  under  the 
glow  of  the  setting  sun. 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  37 


CHAPTER  V. 

CHRISTIAN  MYLREA. 

It  was  late  when  young  Christian  !Mylrea  got 
back  to  Balladhoo  that  night  of  Kemiish  Kin- 
vig's  visit.  "VvQ  been  up  for  a  walk  to  the  Mon- 
ument on  Horse  Hill,"  he  remarked,  carelessly, 
as  he  sat  down  at  the  piano  and  touched  it  lightly 
to  the  tune  of  ''Drink  to  me  only  with  thine 
eyes."  "Poor  old  Corrin/'  he  said,  pausing  with 
tvvo  fingers  on  the  key-board,  "what  a  crazy  old 
heretic  he  must  have  been  to  elect  to  busy  him- 
self up  yonder."  Then,  in  a  rich  full  tenor. 
Christian  sang  a  bar  or  two  of  "Sally  in  our  Al- 
ley." 

The  tw^o  older  men  were  still  seated  at  oppo- 
site sides  of  the  table  smoking  leisurely.  ]\Iylrea 
Balladhoo  told  Christian  of  the  errand  on  which 
he  had  wished  to  send  him. 

"The  light?  Ah,  yes,"  said  Christian,  turning 
his  head  between  the  rests  in  his  song,  "curious, 
that,  wasn't  it?  Do  you  know  that  coming 
round  by  the  pier  I  noticed  that  the  light  had 
gone  out;  so" — (a  run  up  the  piano) — "so,  after 


88  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  31 E. 

ineffectual  attempts  to  rouse  that  sad  dog  of  a 
harbor-master  of  yours,  dad,  I  went  up  into  the 
box  and  Ht  it  myself.  You  see  it's  burning  now." 

"Humph!  so  it  is,"  grunted  Kerruish  Kinvig, 
w^ho  had  got  up  in  the  hope  of  discrediting  the 
statement. 

''Only  the  wick  run  down,  that  was  all,"  said 
Christian,  who  had  turned  to  the  piano  again, 
and  was  rattling  off  a  lively  French  catch. 

Christian  Mylrea  was  a  handsome  young  fei- 
low  of  five  or  six  and  twenty,  with  a  refined  ex- 
pression and  easy  manner,  educated,  genial, 
somewhat  irresolute  one  might  say,  with  a  weak 
corner  to  his  mouth ;  naturally  of  a  sportive  dis- 
position, but  having  an  occasional  cast  of 
thoughtfulness ;  loving  a  laugh,  but  finding  it 
rather  apt  of  late  to  die  away  abruptly  on  his 
lips. 

Getting  up  to  go,  Kinvig  said,  "Christian,  my 
man,  you've  not  seen  my  new  net-loomis  since 
you  same  home.  Wonderful  inventions!  Won- 
derful! Extraordinary!  Talk  of  your  locomo- 
tive— pshaw!  Come  down,  man,  and  see  them 
at  work  in  the  morning." 

Christian  reflected  for  a  moment.  "I  will," 
he  said,  in  a  more  serious  tone  than  the  occa- 
sion seemed  to  require.  "Yes,  I'll  do  that,"  he 
said. 

"In  the  morning!"   said   M)drea  Balladhoo. 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  3» 

"To-morrow  is  the  first  day  of  the  herrings — no 
time  for  new  net-looms  to-morrow  at  all." 

"The  herrings!''  shouted  Kinvig  from  the  door 
in  an  accent  of  high  disdain. 

"Nothing  like  leather,"  said  Christian,  laugh- 
ing. "Let  it  be  the  morning  after,"  he  added; 
and  so  it  was  agreed. 

N^ext  day  Christian  busied  himself  a  little 
among  the  fishing-smacks  that  were  the  property 
of  his  father,  or  were,  at  least,  kno\vn  by  his 
fathers  name.  He  went  in  and  sat  among  the 
fisher-fellows  with  a  cherry  voice  and  pleasant 
face.  Everywhere  he  was  a  favorite.  When 
his  back  was  turned  it  was :  "Xone  o'  yer  ransy- 
tansy-tisimitee  about  Misther  Christian;  none 
o'  yer  Well,  my  good  man,'  and  the  like  o'  that; 
awful  big  and  could,  sem  as  if  they'd  jist  riz  from 
the  dead."  Or  perhaps,  "No  criss-crossing 
about  the  young  masther;  allis  preachin';  and 
'I'll  kermoonicate  yer  bad  behavior'  and  all  that 
jaw."  Or  again,  more  plaintively,  "I  wish  he 
were  a  bit  more  studdy-like,  and  savin'.  Of 
coorse,  of  coorse,  me  and  him's  a  allis  been  mid- 
dlin'  well  acquent." 


40  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   NET  FACTORY. 

The  morning  after  the  fleet  left  the  harbor, 
Christian  walked  down  to  Kerruish  Kinvig's 
house,  and  together  they  went  over  the  net  fac- 
tory. In  a  large  room  facing  the  sea  a  dozen 
hand-looms  for  the  manufacture  of  drift-nets 
had  been  set  up.  Each  loom  was  worked  by  a 
young  woman,  and  she  had  three  levers  to  keep 
in  action — one  with  the  hand  and  the  others  with 
the  feet. 

Kinvig  explained,  with  all  the  ardor  of  an 
enthusiast,  the  manifold  advantage  of  the  new 
loom  over  the  old  one  with  which  Christian  was 
familiar;  dwelt  on  the  knots,  the  ties  and  the 
speed,  exhibited  a  new  reel  for  the  unwinding  of 
the  cotton  thread  from  the  skein,  and  described 
a  new  method  of  barking  when  the  nets  come 
off  the  looms.  Pausing  now  and  then  with  the 
light  of  triumph  in  his  eyes,  he  shouted,  ''Where's 
your  Geordie  Stephenson  now?     Eh?" 

Christian  listened  with  every  appearance  of 
rapt  attention,  and  from  time  to  time  put  ques- 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  41 

tions  which  were  at  least  respectably  relevant.  A 
quicker  eye  than  Kerruish  Kinvig's  might  per- 
haps have  seen  that  the  young  man's  attention 
was  on  the  whole  more  occupied  with  the  net- 
makers  than  with  their  looms,  and  that  his  quick 
gaze  glanced  from  face  to  face  with  an  inquir- 
ing expression. 

A  child  of  very  tender  years  was  working  a 
little  thread  reel  at  the  end  of  the  room,  and,  on 
some  pretence,  Christian  left  Kinvig's  side,  step- 
ped up  to  the  child,  and  spoke  to  her  about  the 
click-clack  of  the  levers  and  cranks.  The  little 
woman  lifted  her  head  to  reply ;  but,  having  a  full 
view  of  her  face.  Christian  turned  away  without 
waiting  for  her  answer. 

After  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  all  Christian's  show 
of  interest  could  not  quite  conceal  a  look  of 
weariness.  One  would  have  said  that  he  had 
somehow  been  disappointed  in  this  factory  and 
its  contents.  Something  that  he  had  expected 
to  see  he  had  not  seen.  Just  then  Kinvig  an- 
nounced that  the  choicest  of  his  looms  was  in 
another  room.  This  one  would  not  only  make 
a  special  knot,  but  would  cut  and  finish. 

'Tt  is  a  delicate  instrument,  and  wants  great 
care  in  the  working,"  said  Kinvig.  In  that  re- 
gard the  net-maker  considered  himself  fortu- 
nate, for  he  had  just  hit  on  a  wonderfully  smart 


43      SHE'S  ALL  TEE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

young  woman  who  could  work  it  as  well,  Kinvig 
verily  believed,  as  he  could  work  it  himself. 

'Who  is  she?"  said  Christian. 

*'A  stranger  in  these  parts — came  from  the 
south  somewhere — Castletown  way,"  said  Kin- 
vig; and  he  added  with  a  grin,  "Haven't  you 
heard  of  her?" 

Christian  gave  no  direct  reply,  but  displayed 
the  profoundest  curiosity  as  to  this  latest  devel- 
opment in  net-making  ingenuity.  He  was  forth- 
with carried  off  to  inspect  Kinvig's  first  treasure 
in  looms. 

The  two  men  stepped  into  a  little  room  apart, 
and  there,  working  at  the  only  loom  that  the 
room  contained,  was  little  Ruby's  sister,  Mona 
Cregeen.  The  young  woman  was  putting  her 
foot  on  one  of  the  lower  treadles  when  they  en- 
tered. She  made  a  slight  but  perceptible  start, 
and  the  lever  went  up  with  a  bang. 

'Tut,  my  girl,  how's  this?"  said  Kinvig.  "See 
— you've  let  that  line  of  meshes  off  the  hooks.^' 

The  girl  stopped,  replaced  the  threads  one 
after  one  with  nervous  fingers,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded with  her  work  in  silence. 

Kinvig  was  beginning  an  elaborate  engineer- 
ing disquisition  for  Christian's  benefit — Chris- 
tian's head  certainly  did  hang  rather  too  low  for 
Kinvig's   satisfaction — when    a   girl    comes   in 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  43 

from  the  outer  factory  to  say  that  a  man  at  the 
gate  would  Hke  to  see  the  master. 

''Botheration !''  shouted  Kinvig;  ''but  wait 
here,  Christian,  and  I'll  be  back.''  Then,  turn- 
ing to  the  young  weaver — "Show  this  gentle- 
tnan  the  action  of  the  loom,  my  girl.'' 

When  the  door  had  closed  behind  ]\Ir.  Kinvig, 
Christian  raised  his  eyes  to  the  young  woman's 
face.  There  was  silence  between  them  for  a 
moment.  The  window  of  the  room  was  open, 
and  the  salt  breath  of  the  ocean  floated  in.  The 
sea's  deep  murmur  was  all  that  could  be  heard 
between  the  clicks  of  the  levers.  Then  Chris- 
tian said,  softly, 

"Alona,  have  you  decided?  Will  you  go 
back?" 

The  girl  lifted  her  eyes  to  his.  "Xo,"  she 
answered,  quietly. 

"Think  again,  ]\Iona;  think  of  me.  It  isn't 
that  I  couldn't  wish  to  have  you  here — always 
here — always  with  me — " 

The  girl  gave  a  little  hard  laugh. 

"But  think  of  the  risk!"  continued  Christian, 
more  eagerly.  Is  it  nothing  that  I  am  tortured 
with  suspense  already,  but  that  you  should  fol- 
low me?'' 

"And  do  I  suffer  nothing?"  said  she. 

There  was  no  laughter  on  Christian's  lips  now. 


44      SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

The  transformation  to  earnest  pallor  was  start- 
ling. 

'Think  of  my  father,'^  he  said,  evading  the 
girl's  question.  "I  have  all  but  impoverished 
him  already  with  my  cursed  follies,  and  litt'e 
does  he  dream,  poor  old  dad,  of  the  utter  ruin 
that  yet  hangs  over  his  head." 

There  was  a  pause.     Then,  in  a  tenderer  tone, 

"Mona,  don't  add  to  my  eternal  worries.  Go 
back  to  Derby  Haven,  like  the  dear  girl  that  you 
are.  And  when  this  storm  blows  over — and  it 
will  soon  be  past — then  all  shall  be  made  right. 
Yes,  i+  shall,  believe  me." 

There  was  no  answer.     Christian  continued, 

"Go  at  once,  my  girl.  Here"  (diving  into  his 
pockets),  "I've  precious  little  money  left,  God 
help  me,  but  here's  enough  to  pay  your  way,  and 
something  to  spare." 

He  offered  a  purse  in  his  palm.  The  girl 
tossed  up  his  hand  with  a  disdainful  gesture. 

"It's  not  money  I  want  from  you,"  she  said. 

Christian  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  with 
blank  amazement.  She  caught  the  expression, 
and  answered  it  with  a  haughty  curl  of  the  lip. 
The  sneer  died  ofif  her  face  on  the  instant,  and 
the  tears  began  to  gather  in  her  eyes. 

"It's  not  love  a  girl  wants,  then?"  she  said, 
struggling  to  curl  her  lip  again.  "It's  not  love, 
then,  that  a  girl  like  me  can  want,"  she  said. 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  45 

She  had  stopped  the  loom  and  covered  up 
her  face  in  her  hands. 

"No,  no,"  she  added,  with  a  stifled  sob,  'love  is 
for  ladies — fine  ladies  in  silks  and  satins — pure 
• — virtuous.  .  .  .  Christian,"  she  exclaimed, 
dropping  her  hands  and  looking  into  his  face 
with  indignant  eyes,  "I  suppose  there's  a  sort  of 
woman  that  wants  nothing  of  a  man  but  money, 
is  there?" 

Christian's  lips  were  livid.  'That's  not  what  I 
meant,  Mona,  believe  me,"  he  said. 

The  loom  was  still.  The  sweet  serenity  of  the 
air  left  hardly  a  sense  of  motion. 

"You  talk  of  you  father,too,"  the  girl  con- 
tinued, lifting  her  voice.  "What  of  my  mother? 
You  don't  think  of  her.  No,  but  I  do,  and  it 
goes  nigh  to  making  my  heart  bleed." 

"Hush,  ]\Iona,"  whispered  Christian;  bnt, 
heedless  of  the  warning,  she  continued. 

"To  be  torn  away  from  the  place  where  she 
was  born  and  bred,  where  kith  and  kin  still  live, 
where  kith  and  kin  lie  dead — that  was  hard.  But 
it  would  have  been  harder,  far  harder,  to  remain, 
with  shame  cast  at  her  from  every  face,  as  it  has 
been  every  day  for  these  five  years." 

She  paused.  A  soft  boom  came  up  to  them 
from  the  sea,  where  the  unrufBed  waters  rested 
under  the  morning  sun. 

"Yes,  we  have  both  suftered,"  said  Christian. 


46  SHE'S  ALL  TEE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

"What  I  have  suffered  God  knows.  Yes,  yes; 
the  man  who  Hves  two  Hves  knows  what  it  is  to 
suffer.  Talk  of  crime!  no  need  of  that,  as  the 
good,  goody,  charitable  world  counts  crime.  Let 
it  be  only  a  hidden  thing,  that's  enough.  Only  a 
secret,  and  yet  how  it  kills  the  sunshine  off  the 
green  fields!"  Christian  laughed — a  hollow, 
hard,  cynical  laugh. 

'To  find  the  thing  creep  up  behind  every 
thought,  lie  in  ambush  behind  ever}-  smile,  break 
out  in  mockery  behind  every  innocent  laugh. 
To  have  the  dark  thing  with  you  in  the  dark 
night  No  sleep  so  sweet  but  that  it  is  haunted 
by  this  nightmare.  No  dream  so  fair  but  that  an 
ugly  memor}^  steals  up  at  first  awakening — that, 
yes,  that  is  to  suffer!" 

Just  then  a  flight  of  sea-gulls  disporting  on 
a  rock  in  the  bay  sent  up  a  wild,  jabbering  noise. 

*To  know  that  you  are  not  the  man  men  take 
you  for;  that  dear  souls  that  cling  to  you  would 
shudder  at  your  touch  if  the  scales  could  fall 
from  their  eyes,  or  if  for  an  instant — as  by  a  flash 
of  lightning — the  mask  fell  from  your  face!" 

Christian's  voice  deepened,  and  he  added, 

**Yet  to  know  that  bad  as  one  act  of  your  life 
may  have  been,  that  life  has  not  been  all  bad; 
that  if  men  could  but  see  you  as  Heaven  sees 
you.  perhaps — perhaps — you  would  have  acquit* 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  47 

His  voice  trembled  and  he  stopped.  ]\Iona 
■\vas  gazing  out  over  the  sea  with  blurred  eyes 
that  saw  nothing. 

Christian  had  been  resting  one  foot  on  the 
loom.  Lifting  himself  he  stamped  on  the  floor, 
threw  back  his  head  with  a  sudden  movement, 
and  laughed  again,  slightly. 

"Something  too  much  of  this,'*  he  said.  Then 
sobering  once  more,  "Go  back,  Mona.  It 
sha'n't  be  for  long.  I  swear  to  you  it  sha'n't. 
But  what  must  I  do  with  debts  hanging  over 
me—" 

"I'll  tell  you  what  you  must  not  do,"  said  the 
girl  with  energy. 

Christian's  eyes  but  not  his  lips  asked  "What?" 

"You  must  not  link  yourself  with  that  Bill  Kis- 
seck  and  his  Curragh  gang." 

A  puzzled  look  crossed  Christian's  face. 

"Oh,  I  know  their  doings,  don't  you  doubt  it," 
said  the  girl. 

"What  do  you  know  of  Bill  Kisseck?"  said 
Christian  with  some  perceptible  severit}'.  "Tell 
me,  Mona,  what  harm  do  you  know  of  Bill  and 
his — his  gang,  as  you  call  them?'- 

"  I  know  this — I  know  they'll  be  in  Castle 
Rushen  one  of  these  fine   days.'' 

Christian  looked  relieved.  With  a  cold  smile 
he  said,  "I  dare  say  you're  right,  ^lona.     They 


48  SEE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

are  a  rough  lot,  the  Curragh  fellows;  but  no 
harm  in  them  that  I  know  of." 

''Harm!"  Mona  had  started  the  loom  afresh, 
but  she  stopped  once  more.  "Harm!"  she  ex- 
claimed again.  Then  in  a  quieter  way,  "Keep 
away  from  them.  Christian.  You've  seen  too 
much  of  them  of  late." 

Christian  started. 

"Oh,  I  know  it.  But  you  can't  touch  pitch— 
you  mind  the  old  saying." 

Mona  had  again  started  the  loom,  and  was 
rattling  at  the  levers  with  more  than  ordinaiy 
energy.  Christian  watched  her  for  a  minute 
with  conflicting  feelings.  He  felt  that  his  man- 
hood was  being  put  to  a  severe  strain.  There- 
fore, assuming  as  much  masculine  superiority  of 
manner  as  he  could  command,  he  said, 

"We'll  not  talk  about  things  that  you  don't 
quite  understand,  Mona.  What  Kisseck  may 
do  is  no  affairs  of  ours,  unless  I  choose  to  join 
him  in  any  enterprise,  and  then  I'm  the  best 
judge,  you  know." 

The  girl  stopped.  Resting  her  elbow  on  the 
upper  lever,  and  gazing  absently  out  at  the  win- 
dow where  the  light  weaves  in  the  bay  were  glis- 
tening through  a  drowsy  haze,  she  said,  quietly, 

"The  man  that  I  could  choose  out  of  all  the 
world  is  not  one  who  lives  on  his  father  and 
waits  for  the  storm  to  blow  over.     No,  nor  one 


SHE'S  ALL  TEE  WORLD  TO  ME.  49 

that  cluthches  at  every  straw,  no  matter  what. 
He's  the  man  who'd  put  his  hand  to  the  boats, 
or  the  plough,  or  the  reins;  and  if  he  hadn't 
enough  to  buy  me  a  ribbon,  Td  say  to  myseh", 
proudly.  That  man  loves  me !' '' 

Christian  winced.  Then  assuming  afresh  his 
loftier  manner,  "As  I  say,  ]\Iona,  we  won't  talk 
of  things  you  don't  understand." 

'T'll  not  go  back !"  said  the  girl,  as  if  by  a  leap 
of  thought.  The  loom  was  started  afresh  with 
vigor. 

"Then  let  me  beg  of  you  to  be  secret,"  whis- 
pered Christian,  coming  close  to  her  ear. 

The  girl  laughed  bitterly. 

"Never  fear,"  she  said,  "it's  not  for  the  woman 
to  blab.  No,  the  world  is  all  for  the  man,  and 
the  law  too.  ]\Ien  make  the  laws  and  women 
suffer  under  them — that's  the  way  of  it." 

The  girl  laughed  again,  and  continued  in 
mocking  tones,  "  Toor  fellow,  he's  been  sorely 
tempted,'  says  the  world;  'Tut  on  her,  never 
name  her,'  says  the  law." 

And  once  more  the  girl  forced  a  hollow,  bitter 
laugh. 

Just  then  a  child's  silvery  voice  was  heard  in 
the  street  beneath.     The  blithe  call  was — 

"Sweet  violets  aod  primroses  the  sweetest." 

The  little  feet  tripped  under  the  window.  The 


50  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

loom  stopped,  and  they  listened.  Then  Chris- 
tian looked  into  the  young  woman's  face,  and 
blinding  tears  rose  on  the  instant  into  the  eyes 
of  both. 

"Mona!"  he  cried,  in  low  passionate  tones,  and 
opened  his  arms.  There  was  an  unspeakable 
language  in  her  face.  She  turned  her  head 
towards  him  longingly,  yearningly,  with  heaving 
breast.  He  took  one  step  towards  her.  She 
drew  back.  *'No — not  yet!"  His  arms  fell,  and 
he  turned  away. 

Then  the  voice  of  Kerruish  Kinvig  could  be 
heard  in  the  outer  factory. 

'T've  been  middling  long,"  he  said,  hurrying 
in,  ''but  a  man,  a  bailiff  from  England,  came 
bothering  about  some  young  waistrel  that  I 
never  heard  of  in  my  born  days — had  run  away 
from  his  debts,  and  so  on — had  been  traced  to 
the  Isle  of  Man,  and  on  here  to  Peel.  And 
think  of  that  tomfool  of  a  Tommy-Bill-beg  send- 
ing the  man  to  me.  I  bowled  him  off  to  your 
father." 

"My  father!"  exclaimed  Christian,  who  had 
listened  to  Kinvig's  rambling  account  with  an 
uneasy  manner. 

"Yes,  surely,  and  the  likeliest  man  too.  What's 
a  magistrate  for  at  all  if  private  people  are  to  be 
moidered  like  yonder?  But  come,  I'll  show  you 
the  sweet  action  of   this   loom    in   unwinding. 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD   TO  ME.  51 

Look  now — see — keep  your  eye  on  those  hooks.'^ 

And  Kerruish  Kinvig  rattled  on  with  his  ex- 
planation to  a  deaf  ear. 

"Air.  Kinvig,''  interrupted  Christian,  *'I  hap- 
pen to  know  that  father  is  not  risen  yet  this 
morning.     That  bailiff — " 

"More  shame  for  him;  let  him  be  roused 
anyhow.  See  here,  though,  press  your  hand  on 
that  level — so.  Now  when  Mona  puts  down  that 
other  level — do  you  see?  No!  Why  don't  you 
look  closer?" 

"Air.  Kinvig,  do  you  know  I  half  fancy  that 
young  fellow  the  man  was  asking  for  must  have 
been  an  old  college  chum  of  mine.  If  you 
wouldn't  mind  sending  one  of  your  girls  after 
him  to  Balladhoo  to  ask  him  to  meet  me  in  half 
an  hour  at  the  harbor-master's  cottage  on  the 
quay — " 

"Here!     Let  it  be  here;''   calling  "Jane!'' 

"No,  let  it  be  on  the  quay,"  said  Christian;  "I 
have  to  go  there  presently,  and  it  will  save  time, 
you  know." 

"Bless  me,  man!  have  you  come  to  your  sav- 
ing days  at  last?" 

Kinvig  turned  aside,  instructed  Jane,  and  re- 
sumed the  thread  of  his  technical  explanations. 

"Let  me  show  you  this  knot  again;  that  bum- 
bailiflf  creature  was  bothering  you  before.  Look 
now — stand  here — so." 


52  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

"Yes,"  said  Christian,  with  the  resignation 
of  a  martyr. 

Then  Kinvig  explained  everything  afresh,  but 
with  an  enthusiasm  that  was  sadly  damped  by 
Christian's  manifest  inability  to  command  the 
complexities  of  the  invention. 

'1  thought  once  that  you  were  going  to  be  a 
bit  of  an  engineer  yourself,  Christian.  Bless 
me,  the  amazing  learned  you  were  at  the  wheels, 
and  the  cranks,  and  the  axles  when  you  were  a 
lad  in  jackets;  but" — with  a  suspicious  smile— 
*'it's  likely  you  Ye  doing  something  in  the  the- 
ology line  now,  and  that's  a  sort  of  feeding  and 
sucking  and  suction  that  won't  go  with  the  en- 
gineering anyhow."  Christian  smiled  faintly, 
and  Kinvig,  as  if  by  an  after-thought,  shouted, 

"Heigh-ho!  Let's  take  the  road  for  it.  We've 
kept  this  young  woman  too  long  from  her  work 
already."  (Going  out.)  ''You  didn't  give  her 
much  of  a  spell  at  the  vvork  while  I  was  away." 
(Outside.)  "Oh,  I  saw  the  httle  bit  of  your 
sweethearting  as  I  came  back.  But  it's  wrong. 
Christian.  It's  a  shame,  man,  and  a  middling 
big  one,  too." 

"What's  a  shame?"  asked  Christian,  gasping 
out  the  inquiry. 

"Why,  to  moider  a  girl  with  the  sweethearting 
\vhen  she's  got  her  living  to  make.  How  would 
you  like  it,  eh?     Middling  well?       Oh.  would 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  53 

you?  All  piecework,  you  know;  so  much  a  piece 
of  net,  a  hundred  yards  long-  and  two  hundred 
meshes  deep;  work  from  eight  to  eight;  fourteen 
shillings  a  week,  and  a  widowed  mother  to  keep, 
and  a  little  sister  as  well.  How  would  you  like 
it,  eh?" 

Christian  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  hung 
his  head. 

**Tut,  man  alive,  you  fine  fellows  browsing  on 
your  lands,  you  scarce  know  you're  born.  Come 
down  and  mix  among  poor  folks  like  this  girl, 
and  her  mother,  and  the  little  lammie,  and  you'll 
begin  to  know  you're  alive.'' 

*'I  dare  say,"  muttered  Christian,  making  long- 
ish  strides  to  the  outer  gate.  A  broad  grin  cross- 
ed the  face  of  Kerruish  Kinvig  as  he  added, 

"But  I  tell  you  what,  when  you  get  your  white 
choker  under  your  gills,  and  you  do  come  down 
among  the  like  of  these  people  with  your  tracts, 
and  your  hymns,  and  all  those  rigs,  and  your 
face  uncommon  solemn,  and  your  voice  like  a 
gannet — none  of  your  sweethearting,  my  man. 
Look  at  that  girl  IMona,  now.  It  isn't  reason- 
able to  think  you're  not  putting  notions  into  the 
girl's  head.     It's  a  shame,  man." 

"You're  right,  Mr.  Kinvig,"  said  Christian, 
under  his  breath,  "a  cursed  shame."  And  he 
stretched  out  his  hand  impatiently  to  bid  good- 
bye. 


54  SEE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

"No.  I'll  go  with  you  to  Tommy-Bill-beg's. 
Oh,  don't  mind  me.  I've  nothing  particular  on 
hand,  or  I  wouldn't  waste  my  time  on  ye.  Yes, 
as  I  say,  it's  wrong.  Besides,  Christian,  what 
you  want  to  do  now  is  to  marry  a  girl  with  a 
property.  That's  the  only  thing  that  will  put 
yonder  Balladhoo  right  again,  and — in  your  ear, 
man — that's  about  what  your  father's  looking 
for." 

Christian  winced,  and  then  tried  to  laugh. 

''Oh,  that's  it,  is  it?"  he  said,  absently. 

*'But  leave  the  girls  alone.  They're  amazin^ 
like  the  ghos'es  are  the  girls ;  once  you  start  them 
you  never  know  where  they'll  stop,  and  they  get 
into  every  skeleton  closet  about  the  house^but 
of  course,  of  course  I'm  an  old  bachelor,  and  as 
the  saying  is,  I  don't  know  nothin'." 

''Ha!  ha!  ha!  of  course  not,"  laughed  Chris- 
tian with  tragic  efifort. 

'  They  had  stopped  outside  the  ivy  cottage  of 
the  harbor-master,  and  that  worthy,  who  was 
stading  there,  had  over-heard  the  last  loud  words 
of  Kinvigs  conversation. 

"What  do  you  say,  Tommy-Bill-beg?"  asked 
Kinvig,  giving  him  a  prod  in  the  ribs. 

'T  say  that  the  gels  in  these  days  ought  to  get 
wedded  while  they're  babbies  in  arms — " 

"That'll  do,  that'll  do,"  shouted  Kinvig  with 
a  roar  of  laughter. 


SHE'S  ALL  THE   WORLD  TO  ME.  55 

At  the  same  moment  one  of  the  factory  girls 
appeared  side  by  side  with  a  stranger. 

"Good-bye,  Mr.  Kinvig/'  said  Christian. 

''Good-day,"  Kinvig  answered;  and  then 
shouting  to  the  stranger,  ''this  gentleman  knows 
something  of  the  young  vagabond  you  want." 

"So  I  see,"  answered  the  stranger  with  a  cold 
smile,  and  Christian  and  the  stranger  stepped 
apart. 

When  they  parted,  the  stranger  said,  "Well 
one  month  let  it  be,  and  not  a  day  longer.''  Chris- 
tian nodded  his  head  in  assent,  and  turned  to- 
wards Balladhoo.     After  dinner  he  said, 

"Father,  Td  like  to  go  out  to  the  herrings  this 
season.     It  would  be  a  change." 

"Humph!"   grunted  his  father;  "which  boat?''' 

"Well,  I  thought  of  the  Ben-my-Chree;  she's 
roomy,  and  besides,  she's  the  admiral's  boat,  and 
perhaps  Kisseck  wouldn't  much  like  to  hear  that 
I'd  sailed  with  aijother  master." 

""You'll  soon  tire  of  that  amusement,"  mum- 
bled Mylrea  Balladhoo. 


56  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   LAST   OF    "THE   HEEKINGS." 

Some  months  later,  as  the  season  was  chilHng 
down  to  winter,  the  Ben-my-Chree,  with  the  fleet 
behind  her,  was  setting  out  from  Peel  for  her 
last  night  at  ''the  herrings."  On  the  deck,  among 
others,  was  Christian  Mylrea,  in  blue  serge  and 
guernsey,  heavy  sea-boots  and  sou'wester.  It 
was  past  sundown;  a  smart  breeze  was  blowing 
off  the  land  as  they  rounded  the  Contrary  Head 
and  crossed  the  two  streams  that  flow  there. 
It  was  not  yet  too  dark,  however,  tO'  see  the  coast- 
line curved  into  covelets  and  promontories,  and 
to  look  for  miles  over  the  hills  where  stretched 
the  moles  and  hillocks  of  gorse  and  fussacks  of 
long  grass. 

The  twilight  deepened  as  they  rounded  Niar- 
byl  Point  and  left  the  Calf  Islet  on  their  lee,  with 
Cronte-nay-Ivey-Lhaa  towering  into  the  gloomy 
sky.  When  they  sailed  through  Fleshwick  Bay 
the  night  gradually  darkened,  and  they  saw 
nothing  of  Ennyn  Mooar.  But  the  heavens 
lightened  again  and  glittered  with  stars,  and 


SHE'S  ALL  TUB  WORLD  TO  ME.  57 

when  they  brought  the  lugger  head  to  the  wind 
in  six  fathoms  of  water  outside  Port  Erin,  the 
moon  had  risen  behind  Brada,  and  the  steep  and 
rugged  headland  showed  clear  against  the  sky. 

"Have  you  found  the  herring  on  this  ground 
at  the  same  time  in  former  seasons?'' asked  Chris- 
tian of  Kisseck. 

"Not  for  seven  years." 

'Then  why  try  now?" 

"See  the  gull  there.  She's  skipper  to-night. 
She's  showing  us  the  fish." 

And  one  after  another  the  fleet  brought  to 
about  them. 

Danny  Fayle  had  been  leaning  over  the  bow, 
and  occasionally  rapping  with  a  stick  at  the  tim- 
bers near  the  water. 

*'Any  signs?''' shouted  Kisseck. 

**Ay,"  said  Danny,  "the  mar-fire's  risin'." 

The  wind  had  dropped,  and  luminous  patches 
of  phosphorescent  light  in  the  water  were  shovv^- 
ing  Danny  that  the  hemng  was  stirring. 

''Let's  mak  a  shot;  up  with  the  gear,"  said 
Kisseck ;  and  preparations  were  made  for  shoot- 
ing the  nets  over  the  quarter. 

"Davy  Cain  (the  mate),  you  see  by  the  lint. 
Tommy  Tear,  look  after  the  corks.  Danny — 
uhere's  that  lad? — look  to  the  seizings;  d'ye 
hear?" 

Then  the  nets  were  hauled  from  below  and 


58  SUE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

passed  over  a  bank  board  placed  between  the 
hatchway  and  the  top  of  the  bulwark.  Davy  and 
Tommy  shot  the  gear,  and  as  the  seizings  came 
up,  Danny  ran  aft  with  them  and  made  them 
fast  to  the  warp  near  the  taffrail. 

When  the  nets  were  all  paid  out,  every  net  in 
t!  e  drift  being  tied  to  the  next,  and  a  solid  wall 
of  meshes  nine  feet  deep  had  been  swept  away 
for  half  a  mile  behind  them,  Kisseck  shouted, 
"Down  with  the  sheets." 

The  sails  were  taken  in,  the  mainmast — made 
to  lower  backward — was  dropped,  and  only  the 
drift-mizzen  was  left  to  keep  the  boat's  head  to 
the  wind. 

"Up  with  the  light  there,"  shouted  Kisseck. 

On  hearing  this  Danny  popped  his  head  out  of 
the  hatchways. 

''Ah!  to  be  sure,  that  lad's  never  ready.  Gerr 
out  of  that,  quick." 

Danny  took  a  lantern  and  fixed  it  on  the  top 
3f  the  mitchboard. 

Then  vessel  and  nets  drifted  together.  Chris- 
tian and  the  skipper  went  below. 

It  was  now  a  calm,  clear  night,  with  just  light 
enough  to  show  two  or  three  of  the  buoys  on  the 
back  of  the  first  net  as  they  floated  under  water. 
The  skipper  had  not  mistaken  his  ground. 
Large  white  patches  came  moving  out  of  the  sur- 
rounding pavement  of  deep  black,  lightened  only 


SHE'S  ALL  THE   WOULD   TO  ME.  59 

with  the  occasional  image  of  a  star  where  the 
vanishing  ripples  left  the  sea  smooth.  Once  or 
twice  countless  faint  popping  sounds  were  heard, 
and  minute  points  of  silver  were  seen  in  the  water 
around.  The  herrings  were  at  play  about  them. 
Shoals  on  shoals  were  breaking  the  sea  into  glis- 
tening foam  . 

After  an  hour  had  passed,  Kisseck  popped  his 
head  out  of  the  hatchways,  and  cried,  "Try  the 
look-on.-' 

The  warp  was  hauled  in  until  the  first  net  was 
reached.  It  came  up  as  black  as  coal,  save  for 
a  dog-fish  or  two  that  had  broken  a  mesh  here 
and  there. 

''Too  much  moon  to-night,"  said  Kisseck; 
''they  see  the  nets,  and  the  xute  they  are  extra- 
ordinary. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  moon  went  out  behind 
a  thick  ridge  of  cloud  that  floated  over  the  land. 
The  sky  became  gray  and  leaden,  and  a  rising 
breeze  ruffled  the  sea.  Some  of  the  men  on  deck 
began  to  sing. 

"Hould  on  their,"  shouted  Kisseck,  ''d'ye 
want  to  frighten  all  the  herrin'  for  ten  miles?" 

Hour  after  hour  wore  on,  and  not  a  fish  came 
to  the  "lookon"  net.  Towards  one  o'clock  in 
the  morning  the  moon  broke  out  again  in  full 
splendor.  • 

'There'll  be  a  heavv  strike  now,"  said  Kis~ 


60  SHE'i^  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

seek;  and  in  another  instant  a  luminous  patch 
floated  across  the  Hne  of  nets,  sank,  disappeared, 
and  pulled  three  of  the  buoys  down  with  them. 

'Tull  up  now,"  shouted  Kisseck. 

Then  the  nets  were  hauled.  It  was  Danny 
Fayle's  duty  to  lead  the  warp  through  a  snatch- 
block  fixed  to  the  mast-hole  on  to  the  capstan. 
Davy  Cain  disconnected  the  nets  from  the  warps, 
and  Tommy  Tear  and  Mark  Crennel  pulled  the 
nets  over  the  gunwale.  They  came  up,  white  in 
the  moonlight,  as  a  solid  block  of  fish.  Bill  Kis- 
seck and  Christian  passed  the  nets  over  the  scud- 
ding pole,  and  shook  the  herrings  into  the  hole. 

"Five  barrels  at  least,"  said  Kisseck.  'Try 
again."  And  once  more  the  nets  were  shot. 
The  other  boats  of  the  fleet  were  signalled  that 
the  Ben-my-Chree  had  discovered  a  scale  of  fish. 
The  blue  light  was  answered  by  other  blue  lights 
on  every  side.     The  fishing  was  faring  well. 

One,  two,  three  o'clock.  The  night  was  wear- 
ing on.  The  moon  went  out  once  more,  and  in 
the  darkness  that  preceded  the  dawn  the  lanterns 
burning  on  the  drifting  boats  gave  out  an  eerie 
glow.  At  last  the  gray  light  came  in  the  east, 
and  the  sun  rose  over  the  land.  The  breeze  vvas 
now  fresh,  and  it  was  time  to  haul  in  the  nets 
for  the  last  time. 

In  accordance  with  ancient  custom,  the  admi- 
ral's flag  went  up  to  the  mast^hciad,  and  at  this 


SHE'S  ALL  THE   WORLD   TO  ME.  oi 

sign  every  man  in  the  fleet  droppec!  on  one  knee, 
with  his  face  in  his  cap,  to  offer  his  silent  thanks- 
giving for  the  blessings  of  the  season. 

"Tumble  up  the  sheets — bear  a  hand  there — 
d the  lad — geer  out  of  the  way." 

In  five  minutes  the  lugger  was  running  home 
before  a  stiff  breeze. 

"Nine  barrels — not  bad  for  the  last  night,"  said 
Christian. 

''Souse  them  well,"  said  Kisseck,  and  Davy 
Corteen  sprinkled  salt  on  the  herrings  as  they  lay 
in  the  hold. 

Mark  Crennel,  who  acted  as  slushy,  otherwise 
cook,  came  up  from  below  with  a  huge  sauce- 
pan, which  he  filled  with  the  fish.  As  he  did  so, 
the  ear  was  conscious  of  a  faint  "cheep,  cheep" — 
the  herrings  were  still  alive. 

All  hands  then  went  below  for  a  smoke,  except 
the  man  at  the  tiller,  and  Kisseck  and  Christian, 
who  stood  talking  at  the  bow.  It  is  true  that 
Danny  Fayle  lay  on  the  deck,  but  the  lad  was 
hardly  an  entity.  His  uncle  and  Christian  heeded 
him  not  at  all,  yet  Danny  heard  their  conversa- 
tion, and,  without  thought  of  mischief,  remem- 
bered what  he  heard. 

Christian  was  talking  earnestly  of  some  im- 
pending disaster,  of  debts,  and  the  near  approach 
of  the  time  when  his  father  must  be  told. 

"I've  put  that  man  off  time  after  time,"  he 


62  SEE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

said;  ''he'll  not  wait  much  longer,  and  then — • 
God  help  us  all!'' 

Kisseck  laughed.  "You're  allis  in  Paddy's 
hurricane — right  up  and  down,"  he  said,  ieer- 
ingly.     "Yer  raely  wuss  till  ever." 

"I  tell  you,  the  storm  is  coming,"  said  Chris- 
tian, with  some  vexation. 

'Then  keep  your  weather  eye  hftin',  that's  all," 
said  Kisseck,  loftily. 

Christian  turned  aside  with  an  impatient  ges- 
ture. After  a  pause  he  said,  "You  wouldn't  talk 
to  me  Hke  that,  Kisseck,  if  I  hadn't  been  a  weak 
fool  with  you.  It's  a  true  saying  that  when  you 
tell  your  serv^ant  your  secret  you  make  him  your 
master." 

Then  Kisseck  altered  his  manner  and  became 
suave. 

"What's  to  be  done?"  said  Christian,  irritated 
at  some  humiliating  compliments. 

"I've  somethin'  terrible  fine  up  here,"  said  Kis- 
seck, tapping  his  forehead  mysteriously.  Chris- 
tian smiled  rather  doubtfully. 

"It'll  get  you  out  of  this  shoal  water,  anyhow," 
said  the  skipper. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Christian. 

"The  tack  we've  been  on  lately  isn't  worth 
workin'.  It  isn't  what  it  was  in  the  good  ould 
days,  when  the  Frenchn^en  and  the  Dutchmen 
came  along  v.i.h  the  Injm  and  Cl.inee  goods, 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  63 

and  we  just  run  along-side  in  wherries  and  whip- 
ped them  up.  Too  many  hands  at  the  trade 
now." 

*'So,  smuggling,  like  everything  else,  has  gone 
to  the  dogs,"  said  Christian,  with  another  grim 
smile. 

''But  I've  a  big  consarn  on  now,"  whispered 
Kisseck. 

"What?" 

'*Uch,  a  shockin'  powerful  skame!     Listen!" 

And  Kisseck  whispered  again  in  Christian's 
ear,  but  the  words  escaped  Danny. 

"No,  no,  that'll  not  do,''  said  Christian,  em- 
phatically. 

"Aw,  and  why  not  at  all?" 

"Why  not?  Why  not?  Because  it's  murder, 
nothing  else." 

"Now,  what's  the  use  of  sayin'  the  lek  o'  that. 
Aw,  the  shockin'  notions.  Well,  well,  and  do 
ye  raely  think  a  person's  got  no  feelin's?  ^lur- 
der?  Aw,  well  now,  well  now!  I  didn't  think 
it  of  you.  Christian,  that  I  didn't." 

And  Kisseck  took  a  step  or  two  up  and  down 
the  deck  with  the  air  of  an  injured  man. 

Just  then  Crennel,  the  cook,  came  up  to  say 
breakfast  was  ready.  All  hands,  save  the  man  at 
the  tiller,  went  below\  A  huge  dish  of  herrings 
and  a  similar  dish  of  potatoes  stood  on  the  table. 
Each  man  dipped  in  with  his  hands,  lifted  his 


64  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

herrings  on  to  his  plate,  ran  his  fingers  from 
tail  to  head,  swept  all  the  flesh  off  the  fresh  fish, 
and  threw  away  the  bare  backbone.  Such  was 
the  breakfast;  and  while  it  was  being  eaten  there 
was  much  chaff  among  the  men  at  Danny 
Fayle's  expense.     It  was — 

"Aw,  you  wouldn't  think  it's  true,  would  ye 
now?" 

'*And  what's  that?"  with  a  "glime"  at  Danny. 

"Why,  that  the  lek  o'  yander  is  tackin'  round 
the  gels." 

"Do  ye  raely  mane  it?" 

"Yes,  though,  and  snifhn'  and  snufhn'  abaft  of 
them  astonishin'." 

"Aw,  well,  well,  well." 

Not  a  sign  from  Danny. 

"Yes,  yes,  the  craythur's  doin'  somethin'  in  the 
spoony  line,"  said  Kisseck.  "Him  as  hasn't  get 
the  hayseed  out  of  his  hair  yet." 

"And  who's  the  lady,  Danny?"  asked  Chris- 
tian, with  a  smile. 

Danny  was  silent. 

"Why,  who  else  but  that  gel  of  Kinvig's, 
Mona  Cregeen,"  said  Kisseck. 

Christian  dropped  his  herring. 

"Aw,  well,"  said  Tommy  Tear,  "d'ye  mane 
that  gal  on  the  brew  with  the  widda  and  the  wee 
craythur?" 


SEE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  65 

''Yes,  the  little  skite  and  the  ould  sukee,  the 
mawther/'  said  Kisseck. 

Davy  Cain  pretended  to  come  to  Danny's  re- 
lief. 

"And  a  raal  good  gel,  anyhow,  Danny,'''  he 
said  in  a  patronizing  way. 

''Amazin'  thick  they  are.  Oh,  ay,  Danny  got 
to  the  lee  of  her — takes  a  cup  of  tay  up  there, 
and  the  like  of  that." 

"Aw,  well,  it  isn't  raisonable  but  the  lad  should 
be  coortin'  some  gel  now,"  said  Davy. 

"What's  that?"  shouted  Kisseck,  dropping  the 
banter  rather  suddenly.  "What,  and  not  a  far- 
thin'  at  him?  And  owin'  me  a  fortune  for  the 
bringin'  up?" 

"No  matter.  Bill,  and  don't  ride  a  man  down 
like  a  maintack.  One  of  these  fine  mornings 
Danny  will  be  payin'  his  debt  to  you  with  the 
fore-topsail." 

"And  look  at  him  there,"  said  Tommy  Tear, 
reaching  round  Davy  Cain  to  prod  Danny  in  the 
ribs — "look  at  him  pretendin'  he  never  knows 
nothin'." 

But  the  big  tears  were  near  to  toppling  out  of 
Danny's  eyes.  He  got  up,  and  leaving  his  un- 
finished breakfast,  began  to  climb  the  hatchways. 

"Aw,  now,  look  at  that,"  cried  Tommy  Tear, 
with  affected  solemnity. 

Davy  Cain  followed  Danny,  put  an  arm  round 


i6  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

Ms  waist,  and  tried  to  draw  him  back.  ''Don't 
mind  the  loblolly-boys,  Danny  veg,"  said  Davy, 
coaxingly.  Danny  pushed  him  away  with  an 
angry  word. 

•'What's  that  he  said?"  asked  Kisseck. 

"Nothin';  he  only  cussed  a  bit,"  said  Davy. 

Christian  got  up  too.  'I'll  tell  you  what  it 
is,  mates,"  he  said,  "there's  not  a  man  among 
;you.     You're  a  lot  of  skulking  cowards." 

And  Christian  jumped  on  deck. 

''What's  agate  of  the  young  masther  at  all,  at 
all?" 

Then  followed  some  talk  of  the  herring  Meail- 
ley  (harvest  home),  which  was  to  be  celebrated 
that  night  at  the  Jolly  Herrings. 

When  the  boats  ran  into  Peel  harbor,  of 
course  Tommy-Bill-beg  was  on  the  quay,  shout- 
ing at  this  man  and  that.  As  each  boat  got  into 
its  moorings  the  men  set  off  to  their  owner's 
house  for  a  final  squaring  up  of  the  season's  ac- 
counts. Kerruish  and  his  men,  with  Christian, 
walked  up  to  Balladhoo.  Danny  was  sent  home 
by  his  uncle.  The  men  laughed,  but  the  lad  was 
accustomed  to  be  ignored  in  these  reckonings. 
His  share  never  yet  reached  him.  The  wives  of 
the  fishermen  had  come  down  on  this  occasion, 
and  they  went  off  with  their  husbands — Bridget, 
Kisseck's  wife,  being  among  them. 

When  they  got  to  Balladhoo  the  calculation 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  67 

was  made.  The  boat  had  earned  in  all  three 
hundred  pounds.  Of  this  the  master  took  four 
shares  for  himself  and  his  nets,  the  owner  eight 
'shares,  every  man  two  shares,  a  share  for  the 
boy,  and  a  share  for  the  boat.  The  men  grum- 
bled when  Christian  took  up  his  two  shares  like 
another  man.  He  asked  if  he  had  not  done  a 
man's  work.  They  answered  that  he  kept  a  reg- 
ular fisherman  off  the  boat.  Kisseck  grumbled 
also;  said  he  brought  home  three  hundred 
pounds  and  got  less  than  thirty  pounds  of  it 
"The  provisioning  has  cost  too  much,"  said  Myl- 
rea  Balladhoo.  "Your  tea  is  at  four  shillings  a 
pound,  besides  fresh  meat  and  fine-flour  biscuits. 
What  can  you  expect?"  Christian  offered  to 
give  half  his  share  to  the  man  whose  berth  he 
took,  and  the  other  half  to  Danny  Fayle.  This 
quieted  Kisseck,  but  the  others  laughed  and 
muttered  among  themselves,  "Two  more  shares 
for  Kisseck.'' 

Then  the  men,  closely  encircled  by  their  wives, 
moved  off. 

"Remember  the  ]\Ieailley!'' 

"To-night.     Aw,  sure,  sure !'' 


68  mE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME, 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"SEEMS  TO  ME  IT'S  ALL  NATHTTR." 

When  Danny  left  the  boat  he  threw  his  oil- 
skins over  his  arm  and  trudged  along  the  quay. 
Bill  Kisseck's  cottage  stood  alone  under  the 
Horse  Hill,  and  to  get  to  it  Danny  had  to  walk 
round  by  the  bridge  that  crossed  the  river.  On 
the  way  thither  he  met  Ruby  Cregeen,  red  with 
running.  She  had  sighted  the  boats  from  the 
cottage  on  the  hill,  and  was  hurrying  down  to 
see  them  come  into  harbor.  The  httle  woman 
was  looking  this  m®rning  like  something  be- 
tween a  glint  of  sunshine  and  a  flash  of  quick- 
silver. On  the  way  down  she  had  pulled  three 
stalks  of  the  foxglove  bell,  and  stuck  them  jaunt- 
ily in  her  hat,  their  long  swan-like  necks  droop- 
ing over  her  sunny  face.  She  had  come  too  late 
for  her  purpose,  but  Danny  took  her  hand  and 
said  he  would  see  her  back  before  going  off 
home  to  bed.  The  little  one  prattled  every  inch 
of  the  way. 

"Did  you  catch  many  herrings,  Danny ?'^ 

"Nine  barrels." 

"Isn't  it  cruel  to  catch  herrings?" 

''Why  cruel,  Ruby  veg?" 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  69 

"I  don't  know.  Don't  the  herrings  want  to 
stay  in  the  water,  Danny?'' 

**Lave  them  alone  for  that.  You  should  see 
the  shoals  of  them  lying  round  the  nets,  watch- 
ing the  others — their  mother  and  sisters,  as  you 
might  say — who've  got  their  gills  'tangled.  And 
when  you  haul  the  net  up,  away  they  go  at  a 
slant  in  millions  and  milhons — just  like  light- 
ning firing  through  the  water.  Och,  'deed  now 
they've  got  their  feelings  same  as  anybody  else. 
Yes,  yes,  yes!" 

''What  a  shame!'' 

"What's  a  shame,  Ruby?  What  a  solium 
face,  though." 

"Why,  to  catch  them." 

Danny  looked  puzzled.  He  was  obviously 
reasoning  out  a  great  problem. 

"Well,  woman,  that's  the  mortal  strange  part 
of  it.  It  does  look  cruel,  sarten  sure,  but  then 
the  herring  themselves  catch  the  sand-eels,  and 
the  cod  catch  the  herrings,  and  the  porpoises 
and  grampuses  catch  the  cod.  Aw,  that's  the 
truth,  little  big-eyes.  It's  wonderful  strange. 
but  I  suppose  it's  all  nathur.  You  see.  Ruby 
veg,  we  do  the  same  ourselves." 

Ruby  looks  horrified.  "How  do  you  mean, 
Danny?     We  don't  eat  one  another." 

"Oh,  don't  we,  though?  leave  us  alone  for 
that." 


•JO  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

Ruby  is  aghast. 

"'"Well,  of  coorse,  not  to  say  ate,  not  ^xactly 
ate ;  but  the  biggest  chap  alHs  rigs  the  rest.  And 
the  next  biggest  chap  alhs  rigs  a  Httler  one,  you 
know;  and"  the  littlest  chap  he  gets  rigged  by 
everj-^body  all  round,  doesn't  he?" 

Danny  had  clearly  got  a  grip  of  the  problem, 
but  his  poor  simple  face  looked  sadly  burdened. 

''Seems  to  me  it  must  be  all  nathur  somehow, 
Ruby," 

"'Do  you  think  it  is,  Danny?" 

"Well,  well — I  do,  you  know,"  with  a  grave 
shake  of  the  head  over  this  summary  of  the  phi- 
losophy of  life. 

''Then  nature  is  very  cruel,  and  I  don't  love  it." 

''Cruel?  well,  pozzible,  pozzible;  it  does  make 
me  fit  to  cry  a  bit;  but  it  must  be  nathur  some- 
how. Ruby." 

Danny's  eyes  were  looking  very  hazy,  when 
the  little  one,  who  didn't  love  nature,  caught 
sight  of  some  corn-poppies  and  bounded  after 
them.  'The  darlings!  oh  the  loves!"  And  one 
or  two  were  immediately  intertwined  with  the 
foxgloves  in  the  hat. 

Just  then  Mona  came  down  the  hill.  Danny 
saw  her  at  a  distance,  but  gave  no  sign.  lie 
contrived  to  lead  Ruby  to  the  other  side  of  the 
Foad  from  that  on  which  Mona  was  walking,  so 
that  when  they  came  abreast  there  was  a  dozen 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  71 

yards  between  them.  IMona  stopped.  ''Good- 
morning,  Danny." 

Danny's  eyes  were  on  his  heavy  sea-boots,  and 
he  did  not  answer. 

"Why,  it's  only  Mona,"  cried  Ruby,  tug-ging^ 
at  Danny's  oil-skins. 

Mona  crossed  the  road,  and  Danny  ventured 
to  lift  his  eyes  to  the  level  of  her  neck.  Thca 
she  asked  about  the  fishing.  Danny  answered 
in  monosyllables.  She  colored  slightly,  and 
spoke  of  Christian  being  in  the  boat.  "Strange^ 
wasn't  it?" 

''Seems  to  me,''  answered  Danny,  "that  there's 
somethin'  afoot  between  Uncle  Bill  and  the 
young  masther.*' 

Mona's  curiosity  vv^as  aroused  by  the  reph'. 
and  she  probed  Danny  with  searching  questions. 
Then  he  told  her  of  the  conversation  on  the  deck 
that  morning.  She  perceived  that  mischief  was 
brewing.  Yet  Danny  could  give  her  nothing 
that  served  as  a  clew.  If  only  some  one  of 
sharper  wit  could  overhear  such  a  conversation 
then  perhaps  the  mischief  might  be  prevented. 
Suddenly  Mona  conceived  a  daring  idea,  which 
was  partly  suggested  by  the  sight  of  an  old  dis- 
used barn  that  stood  in  a  field  close  at  hand. 

"Everybody  is  talking  of  some  supper  to-night 
to  finish  the  season.     Will  Christian  be  there?* 

"I  heard  him  say  so,"  said  Danny. 


73  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WOh'LD  TO  ME. 

"And  your  uncle,  Bill  Kisseck?'' 

"Aw,  'deed,  for  sure.  He's  allis  where  there's 
guzzlin'." 

"Could  you  lend  me  your  oil-skins,  Danny?" 

Danny  looked  puzzled.  Mona  smiled  in  his 
troubled  face.  "Do,  that's  a  good  Danny,"  she 
said,  taking  his  big  rough  hand.  Danny  drew 
it  away. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  looking  vacantly  over  the  sea. 

Then  they  arranged  that  the  oil-skins  and  cap 
with  a  pair  of  sea-boots  were  to  be  left  in  the 
barn,  and  that  not  a  word  was  to  be  said  to  a  liv- 
ing soul  about  them. 

"Good-bye,"  said  Mona,  holding  out  her  hand. 

It  was  not  at  first  that  Danny  realized  what  he 
ought  to  do  when  a  lady  ofifered  her  hand.  Hav- 
ing taken  it,  he  did  not  quite  know  what  it  was 
right  to  do  next.  So  he  held  it  a  moment  and 
lifted  his  eyes  to  hers.  "Good-bye,  Danny,"  she 
said,  and  there  was  a  tremor  in  her  voice. 

She  had  gone — Danny  never  knew  how.  He 
walked  a  little  farther  with  Ruby,  who  pranced 
and  sang.  On  the  way  home  he  stopped  and 
repeated  to  himself  in  a  whisper,  "Mona,  Mona, 
Mona."  He  looked  at  his  hand.  It  was  coarse 
and  horny.  He  lifted  it  to  his  lips  and  kissed  it. 
Then  he  began  to  run.  Suddenly  he  stopped, 
and  muttered,  "But  what  for  did  she  want  the 
oil-skins?" 


S>HE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  73 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   HERRING    MEAILLET. 

There  was  high  sport  at  the  Johy  Herrings 
that  night.  Christian  ^lylrea  was  there,  more 
than  hah'  ashamed  of  his  surroundings,  but  too 
amiably  irresohite,  as  usual,  to  imperil  by  ab- 
sence from  this  annual  gathering  his  old  reputa- 
tion for  good-fellowship. 

"Aw,  the  gentleman  he  is,  isn't  he?  And  him 
straight  from  Oxford  College,  too." 

"What's  that  they're  sayin'?  Oxford  College? 
Och,  no;  not  that  at  all." 

''But  the  fine  Ensflish  tonsfue  at  him,  anvwav. 
It's  just  a  pleasure  to  hear  him  spake.  Smooth 
as  oil,  and  sweet  astonishin'.  Bill  Kisseck — I 
say,  Bill,  there — why  didn't  you  put  up  the 
young  masther  for  the  chair?'' 

"Aw,  lave  me  alone,''  answered  Kisseck,  with 
a  contemptuous  toss  of  the  head.  "Him  and 
me's  same  as  brothers." 

"Bill's  proud  uncommon  of  the  masther,  and 
middlin'  jealous  too.  Aw,  well !  who's  wonderin' 
at  it?'' 


74  Sllf:'^  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

"It's  a  bit  free  them  chaps  are  making,"  w'lis- 
pered  Kisseck  to  Christian.  Then  rising  to  his 
feei  with  gravity,  ''Gentlemen,"  he  said,  ''what 
d'ye  say  to  Misther  Christian  Mylrea  Balladhoo 
for  the  elber  chair  yander?'' 

"Hoora!     Iloora!" 

Kisseck  resumed  his  seat  with  a  lofty  glance 
of  patronage  at  the  men  about  him,  which  said, 
as  plainly  as  words  themselves,  'T  tould  ye  to 
lave  it  all  to  me." 

"Proud?  d'ye  say.  Look  at  him,"  whispered 
Davy  Cain. 

Tlie  Jolly  Herrings  w^as  perhaps  the  most 
ludicrous  and  incongruous  house  of  entertain- 
ment of  which  history  records  any  veracious  rec- 
ord. It  was  a  very  gurgoil  on  the  fair  fabric  of 
the  earth,  except  that  it  served  the  opposite  uses 
of  attracting  rather  than  banishing  the  evil  spir- 
its about  it.  Thirty-five  years  ago  it  was  to  be 
found  near  the  bottom  of  the  narrow,  crabbed 
little  thoroughfare  that  winds  and  twists  and  de- 
scends to  that  part  of  the  quay  which  overlooks 
the  mins  of  the  castle.  The  gloomy  pothouse 
was  entered  by  a  little  porch.  Two  steps  down 
led  you  into  a  room  that  was  half  parlor  and 
half  bar,  and  where  only  the  fumes  of  tobacco- 
smoke  were  usually  visible.  Two  more  steps 
led  you  to  an  inner  and  much  larger  room,  that 
was  practically  kitchen,  living  room,  and  room 


^SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD   TO  MK.  75 

of  special  entertainment.  This  was  the  apart- 
ment in  which  the  herring  supper  was  always 
given.  What  a  paradox  the  place  was !  All  that 
belonged  to  the  room  itself  was  of  the  rudest  and 
meanest  kind.  The  floor  was  paved  with  stones, 
the  walls  were  sparsely  plastered,  the  ceiling  was 
the  bare  wood  hewn  straight  from  the  tree.  But 
over  these  indications  of  poverty  there  was  an 
extraordinary  display  of  curious  Vv'ealth.  The 
little  window  behind  Christian  in  his  "elber- 
chair'-  vras  glazed  vrith  a  rich  piece  of  stained 
glass  that  had  the  ^ladonna  and  child  for  subject. 
The  elbow-chair  itself  was  of  old  oak  deeply 
canned  and  bound  with  clamps  of  engraved 
brass.  Bill  Kisseck,  who  by  virtue  of  his  office 
sat  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  table,  occupied  a 
small  settee  covered  with  gorgeous  crimson  vel- 
vet. On  the  mantel-piece  were  huddled  in  lux- 
urious confusion  sundry  brass  censers,  mediae- 
val lamps,  and  an  ivory  crucifix.  On  the  wall, 
and  beside  a  piece  of  marble  carved  with  a  me- 
dallion, hung  a  skate  that  had  been  cut  open  to 
dry.  A  pair  of  bellows  lay  on  an  antique  chest  in 
the  ingle.  Into  the  mouth  of  the  censers  a 
bundle  of  pipe-lights  had  been  methodically  ar- 
ranged. A  ponderous  silver  watch  hung  round 
the  arms  of  the  crucifix,  and  a  frying-pan  was 
suspended  in  the  reveal  of  the  window  that  was 
consecrated  to  the  ^^vladonna. 


76  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

Such  was  the  kitchen  and  state-room  of  the 
Jolly  Herrings;  and  no  apartment  ever  spoke 
more  plainly  to  those  who  had  ears  to  hear  of 
the  character  and  habits  of  its  owners.  The 
house  was  kept  by  a  woman  who  was  thin, 
wrinkled,  and  blear-eyed;  and  by  a  man  who  was 
equally  thin  and  no  less  wrinkled,  but  had  quick, 
suspicious  eyes,  and  a  few  spiky  gray  hairs  about 
the  chin  that  resembled  the  whiskers  of  a  cat. 
As  husband  and  wife  this  couple  held  the  little 
pothouse;  but  long  years  after  the  events  nov/ 
being  narrated,  it  was  discovered  that  husband 
and  wife  had  both  been  women. 

What  sport!  What  noisy  laughter!  What 
singing  and  rollicking  cheers!  The  men  stood 
neither  on  the  order  of  their  coming  nor  their 
going,  their  sitting  nor  their  standing.  They 
wore  their  caps  or  not  as  pleased  them,  they  sang 
or  talked  as  suited  them,  they  laughed  or 
sneezed,  they  sulked  or  snarled,  were  noisy  or 
silent  precisely  as  the  whim  of  the  individual  pre- 
scribed the  individual  rule  of  manners.  The 
chair  at  the  Jolly  Herrings  was  a  position  of 
more  distinction  than  duty,  and  it  was  numbered 
among  Christian's  virtues  that  he  had  never  at- 
tempted to  exercise  an  arbitrary  control  over  the 
liberties  of  free-born  ]\Ianxmen.  Jest  or  jeer, 
fun  or  fight,  were  alike  free  of  the  gathering 
w^here  he  presided;  but  ever}'thing  had  to  be  in 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  77 

conscience  and  reason,  for  Christian  drew  the 
line  rigidly  at  marline-spikes  and  belaying-pins. 

Tommy-Bill-beg  was  there,  and  a  fine  scorn 
sat  on  his  face.  The  reason  of  this  was  that,  as 
a  mistaken  tribute  to  music,  Jemmy  Balladhoo 
had  also  been  invited,  and  was  sitting  with  his 
fiddle  directly  in  front  of  the  harbor-master, 
though  that  worthy  disdained  to  take  notice  of 
the  humiliating  proximity.  Danny  Fayle  was 
there.  The  lad  sat  quietly  and  meekly  on  a  form 
near  the  door. 

The  supper  was  lifted  direct  on  to  the  table 
from  the  pans  and  boilers  that  simmered  on  the 
hearth.  First  came  the  broth  well  loaded  with 
barley  and  cabbage,  but  not  destitute  of  the  fla- 
vor of  two  sheep's  heads.  Then  the  suet  pud- 
ding, round  as  a  well-fed  salmon  and  as  long 
as  a  twenty-pound  cod.  After  this  came  three 
legs  of  boiled  mutton  and  a  square  block  of 
roast  beef.  Last  of  all  the  frying-pan  was  taken 
from  the  niche  of  the  ^Madonna,  and  two  or  three 
dozen  of  fresh  herrings  were  made  to  frizzle  and 
crackle  and  bark  and  spatter  over  the  fire. 

Away  went  the  dishes,  away  went  the  cloth, 
an  oil  lamp  with  its  open  mouth — a  relic,  per- 
haps, of  some  monkish  sanctuary  of  the  ^liddle 
Ages — was  lifted  from  the  mantel-piece  and  put 
on  the  table  for  the  receipt  of  customs;  the  cen- 
ser with  the  spills  was  placed  beside  it,  pipes 


78  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

emerged  from  waistcoat-pockets,  and  pots  of 
liquor  with  glasses  and  bottles  came  in  from 
the  outer  bar. 

"Is  it  heavy  on  the  beer  you're  goin'  to  be, 
Bill?"  said  Davy  Cain. 

Kisseck  replied  with  a  superior  smile  and  the 
lifting  up  of  a  whiskey  bottle  from  which  he  had 
just  drawn  the  cork. 

Then  came  the  toasts.  The  chairman  rose, 
amid  *'Hip,  hip,  hooraa,"  to  give  "Life  to  man 
and  death  of  fish."  Kisseck  gave  "Death  to  the 
head  that  never  wore  hair."  Tommy-Bill-beg 
responded  to  loud  requests  for  "The  Ladies." 
He  reminded  the  company  of  the  old  saying, 
"No  herring,  no  wedding;"  and  then,  with  some 
pardonable  discursiveness,  he  said  he  was  "terri- 
ble glad"  to  have  the  fleet  around  Peel,  and  not 
away  in  those  outlandish  foreign  parts,  Kinsale 
and  Scotland;  for  when  they  were  there  he  felt 
like  the  chairman's  namesake.  Christian,  in  the 
"Pilgrim's  Progress."  "And  what  is  it  he  is  say- 
ing in  the  good  ould  Book?"  exclaimed  Tommy 
— "  'My  occipation's  gone!'  " 

Then  came  more  liquor  and  some  singing. 
Christian  sang  too.  He  sang  "Black-eyed  Sue," 
amid  audible  sobs. 

"The  voice  he  has,  anyway;  and  the  loud  it  is, 
and  the  tender,  and  the  way  he  sliddhers  up  and 


SHE'^  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  75 

down,  and  no  squeaks  and  jumps;  no,  no,  nothin"* 
lek  squeezin'  a  tune  out  of  an  ould  sow  by  pul- 
ling the  tail  at  her,  and  a  sorter  of  a  rippin'  up 
yer  innards  to  get  the  hook  out  of  yer  gills.'* 
"Aw,  lovely  he  sung — lovely,  uncommon." 
''Well,  I  tould  you  so.  I  allis  said  it." 
Kisseck  listened  to  this  dialogue  at  his  end  of 
the  table  with  a  lofty  smile.  ''It's  noth',*'  he  said, 
condescendingly.  "That's  nothin'.  You  should 
hear  him  out  on  the  boat,  w^hen  we're  lyin'  at 
anchor,  and  me  and  him  together,  and  the  stars 
just  makm'  a  peep,  and  the  moon,  and  the  mar- 
fire,  and  all  to  that,  and  me  and  him  lyin'  aft  and 
smookin'  and  having  a  glass  maybe ;  but  nothin* 
to  do  no  harm  at  all — that's  when  you  should 
hear  him.^^ 

"More  liquor  there,"  shouted  Tommy-Bill- 
beg,  climbing  with  difficulty  to  his  feet — "more 
liquor  for  the  chair.  And  for  some  one  beside 
— is  that  what  they're  saying?  Well,  look  here! 
bad  sess  to  it — of  coorse,  some  for  me  too.  It's 
terrible  good  for  the  nar\-es,  and  they're  telling 
me  it's  mortal  good  for  studdin'  the  vice.  What's 
that  from  the  chair?  Enemy — eh?  Confound 
it,  that's  true,  though.  What's  that  it's  saying — 
'Who's  fool  enough  to  put  the  enemy  into  his 
mouth  to  stale  away  his  brains?'  Aw,  now,  it's 
the  good  ould  Book  that's  fine  at  summin'  it  all 
up." 


80  snE\^  ALL  THE  ttoulb  to  me. 

Still  more  liquor,  and  Jemmy  Balladhoo 
comes  forth  with  his  fiddle.  Immediate  and 
complete  capitulation  of  Tommy-Bill-beg  en- 
sues. The  harbor-master  never  yet  heard  a 
squeak  from  his  rival's  fiddle ;  but  the  bare  idea 
that  Jemmy  Quark  Balladhoo  should  play  it 
was  really  of  itself  too  ridiculous. 

"Aw,  the  rispen  and  the  raspen.  It's  the  moo 
of  a  cow  he's  on  for  making  now.  No?  Then 
it's  the  sweet  hoot  of  the  donkey.  Not  that? 
Och,  then  it's  safe  to  be  the  grunt  of  Jemy's 
ould  pig,  anyways." 

The  violinist  had  by  this  time  finished  an  elab- 
orate movement,  and  called  on  the  chairman  to 
tell  the  company  what  it  was.  Christian,  w^ho 
had  been  hard  put-to  to  preserve  his  gravity  dur- 
ing the  extraordinary  musical  display,  and  had 
not  the  very  vaguest  idea  of  what  it  w^as  sup- 
posed to  stand  for,  thought  to  get  out  of  the 
difiFxCulty  by  flattering  the  performer.  "Oh,  that? 
— what's  that  you  say? — oh,  of  course — why 
that's,  of  course,  the  Pastoral  Symphony  from 
the  'Messiah' " 

"Not  at  all,"  shouted  the  irate  fiddler,  "it's 
'Rule  Britannica!'" 

Still  more  noise  and  more  liquor,  and  a  good 
deal  of  both  in  the  vicinity  of  the  chair.  Kisseck, 
who  had  drunk  heavily,  struggled  his  way  to  the 
head  of  the  table. 


SUE',"^  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  81 

There  were  several  strangers  present,  for  it 
was  the  custom  to  welcome  as  many  of  the  Cor- 
nish, Irish,  or  Scotch  fishermen  as  happened  to 
be  at  Peel  and  cared  to  join  in  this  dubious 
thanksgiving,  in  the  form  of  a  noisy  orgie. 
Among  the  rest  was  a  young  fellow  in  oil-skins 
and  a  glengarie,  which,  being  several  sizes  too 
big  for  him,  fell  low  over  his  forehead  and  al- 
most covered  his  eyes.  He  sat  near  to  Christian, 
drank  little,  and  spoke  not  at  all.  When  Kis- 
seck  made  his  way  to  Christian's  side  he  had  to 
pass  this  stranger.  ''Who  have  we  here  at  all?'' 
he  said,  trying  to  tip  up  the  glengarie.  The 
young  fellow's  well-timed  jerk  of  the  head  de- 
feated Kisseck's  tipsy  intention. 

''Aw,  Christian,  man,"  said  Kisseck  in  a  whis- 
per that  was  scarcely  pitched  with  prudent  mod- 
eration even  in  that  tumultuous  assembly,  "it's 
a  nice  nate  berth  I've  found  for  us  at  last — nice, 
extraordinary.''  Christian  motioned  his  head  in 
the  direction  of  the  young  stranger;  but  heed- 
less of  the  warning  Kisseck  continued,  "Xo  need 
goin'  messin'  around  graves  in  the  ould  castle 
and  all  to  that.  And  it  isn't  religious  as  you 
were  sayin',  and  I'm  one  that  stands  up  for 
religion,  and  singin'  hymns  at  whiles,  and  a  bit 
of  a  spell  at  the  ould  Book  sometimes.  Aw,  yes, 
though  I  am — (Louder.)  Look  here!  D'ye  hear 
down  yander.     Give  us  a  swipe  of  them  sperrits. 


S2  ^HE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

Right.  Let  us  fill  up  your  glass,  Christian. 
(Coming  closer.)  Aw,  as  I  was  sayin',  it's  in 
the  Poolvash — Lockjaw  they're  callin'  it  now, 
and  as  nate  as  nate  for  stowin'  a  box  of  tay  or  a 
roll  of  silk  or  lace,  or  maybe  a  keg  of  brandy, 
and  no  one  never  knowin'  nothin'." 

The  young  fellow  in  oil-skins  had  dropped  his 
empty  pewter  at  that  moment,  and  it  rolled  be- 
hind Christian's  chair.  As  he  stooped  to  re- 
cover it  the  chairman  wheeled  round  to  give  him 
room,  and  coming  up  again,  their  eyes  met  for 
an  instant.  Christian  made  a  perceptible  start. 
''Strange,  at  least,"  he  muttered  to  himself. 

More  liquor  and  yet  more,  till  the  mouth  of 
the  monastic  lamp  ran  over  with  chinking  coin. 
"Silence!"  shouted  Bill  Kisseck,  struggling  up 
to  speak.  "Aisy  there!  Here's  to  Christian 
Mylrea  Balladhoo;  and  when  he  gets  among 
them  Kays  I'm  calkerlatin'  ifll  be  all  up  with 
the  lot  o'  them,  and  their  laws  agen  honest 
tradin',  and  their  by-laws  agen  the  countin'  of 
the  herrin',  and  their  new  copper  money,  and  all 
the  rest  of  their  messin'.  What  d'ye  say,  men? 
And  wdiat's  that  you're  grinnin'  and  winkin'  at, 
Davy  Cain?  It's  middlin'  free  you're  gettin' 
with  the  masther  anyhow,  and  if  it  wasn't  for  me 
he  wouldn't  bemane  himself  by  comin'  among 
the  lek  of  you,  singin'  and  makin'  aisy.  Chaps, 
fill  up  your  glasses,  every  man  of  you,  d'ye  hear? 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  83 

Here's  to  the  best  gentleman  in  the  island,  bar 
none — hip,  hip,  hooraa!*' 

Among  the  few  who  had  not  responded  with 
becoming  alacrity  to  Kisseck's  request  was  the 
young  stranger.  Observing  this  as  he  shuffled 
back  to  his  seat,  Kisseck  reached  over  and  struck 
at  the  glengarie,  which  tumbled  on  the  floor,  and 
revealed  a  comely  face  and  a  rich  mass  of  auburn 
hair.  The  stranger  rose  at  this  indignity  and 
made  his  way  to  the  door.  When  he  got  there 
Danny  Fayle,  who  was  leaning  against  the  door- 
jamb,  looked  closely  into  his  face  and  reeled 
back  with  a  startled  cry.  The  stranger  was  gone 
the  next  instant. 

"See  yander.  What's  agate  of  the  lad?"  cried 
Kisseck.  And  every  one  turned  to  Danny,  whose 
cheeks  were  as  pale  as  death.  "What's  it  that's 
ailin'  you  at  all?''  shouted  Kisseck. 

"I — I  thought  it  was — was — a  woman,"  stam- 
mered Danny,  with  eyes  still  fixed  on  the  door. 

Loud  peals  of  laughter  followed.  But  wait — 
what  was  now  going  on  at  the  head  of  the  table? 
Wlien  the  stranger  rose.  Christian  had  risen  too. 
It  was  the  moment  to  respond  to  the  toast,  but 
Christian  glared  wildly  about  him  with  a  tongue 
that  seemed  to  cleave  to  his  mouth.  His  glass 
fell  from  his  fingers.  Every  eye  was  fixed  on 
his  face.  That  face  quivered  and  turned  white. 
Laughter  died  away  on  the  lip,  and  the  voices 


84      SEE'S  ALL  THE  ^yORLD  TO  ME. 

were  hushed.  At  last  Christian  spoke.  His 
words  came  slowly,  and  fell  on  the  ear  like  the 
clank  of  a  chain  across  snow. 

''Men/'  he  said,  ''you've  been  drinking  my 
health.  You  call  me  a  good  fellow.  That's 
wrong.  I'm  the  worst  man  among  you."  (Mur- 
murs of  dissent  (and  some  faint  smiles  Oif  incre- 
dulity.) "Bill  says  I'm  going  to  the  House  of 
Keys  one  of  these  days.  That's  wrong  too 
Shall  I  tell  you  where  I  am  going?"  (Christian 
put  one  hand  up  to  his  head;  you  could  see  the 
throbbing  of  his  temples.)  "Shall  I  tell  you?" 
he  cried  in  a  hollow  voice  and  with  staring  eyes; 
*T'm  going  to  the  devil,"  and  amid  the  breathless 
silence  he  dropped  back  in  his  seat  and  buried  his 
head  in  his  hands. 

No  one  spoke.  The  fair  hair  lay  on  the  table 
among  broken  pipes  and  the  refuse  of  spilled 
beer.  Then  every  man  rose  to  his  feet.  There 
could  be  no  more  drinking  to-night.  One  after 
one  shambled  out.  In  two  minutes  the  room 
was  empty  except  for  the  stricken  man,  who  lay 
there  with  hidden  face,  and  Danny  Fayle,  who 
with  a  big  glistening  tear  in  his  eye,  was  strok- 
ing the  tangled  curls. 

"Strange  now,  wasn't  it? — strange,  uncom- 
mon! He's  been  heavy  on  the  beer  lately  they're 
tellin'  me.     Well,  well,  it  isn't  right,  and  him 


8HE\^  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  ';5 

a  gentleman.     Not  lek  as  if  he  was  one  of  us." 
"And  goin*  to  be  a  parson,  too,   so  they're 

savin'.      It's  middlin'  wicked    anyway,  and  no 

disrespec'.     Oie  vie!     Good-night'/' 

"Pazon,  is  it?"  says  Tommy-Bill-beg.     '*Xever 

a  pazon  will  they  make  of  his     mother's     son. 

What's  that  they're  sayin',  'Never  no  duck  wasn't 

hatched  by  a  draKe.'  " 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"THERE   IS   SORROW   ON   THE    SEA-" 

Two  months  passed  away,  and  the  mists  from 
the  sea  were  chased  by  the  winds  of  winter.  It 
was  the  twenty-third  of  December.  In  the  two 
days  that  followed  between  that  day  and  Christ- 
mas morning  occurred  the  whole  series  of  ap- 
palling events  which  it  now  remains  to  us  to 
narrate. 

Mona  Cregeen  and  Danny  Fayle,  with  Ruby 
between  them,  were  walking  along  the  shore 
from  Orry's  Head  towards  the  south.  The  little 
one  prattled  and  sang,  shook  out  her  hair  in  the 
wind,  and  flew  down  the  sand;  ran  back  and 
clasped  a  hand  of  each ;  dragged  Danny  aside  to 
look  at  this  sea-weed,  or  pulled  Mona  along  to 
look  at  chat  shell;  tripped  down  to  the  water's 
edge  until  the  big  waves  touched  her  boots,  and 
then  back  once  more  with  a  half-frightened,  half- 
affected  laughter-loaded  scream. 

Mona  was  serious  and  even  sad,  and  Danny 
wore  a  dejected  look  in  his  simple  face  which 
added  a  melancholy  interest  to  its  vacant  ex- 


SHE'S  ALL  THE   M'URLD   TO  ME.  &7 

pression.  Since  we  saw  him  first  in  the  house  cf 
Mylrea  Balladhoo,  Danny  had  passed  through  a 
bitter  experience.  There  was  no  tangible  sor- 
row, yet  who  shall  measure  the  depth  of  his  suf- 
fering? 

When  the  new  element  of  love  first  entered 
into  Danny's  life,  he  knew  nothing  of  what  it 
was.  A  glance  out  of  a  woman's  eyes  had  in  an 
instant  penetrated  his  nature.  He  was  helpless 
and  passive.  He  would  stand  for  an  hour  neither 
thinking  nor  feeling,  but  with  a  look  of  sheer 
stupidity.  If  this  was  love,  Danny  knew  it  by 
no  such  name.  But  presently  a  ray  of  sunlight 
floated  into  the  lad's  poor,  dense  intelligence, 
and  everything  around  was  bathed  in  a  new, 
glad  light.  The  vacant  look  died  away  from 
his  face.  He  smiled  and  laughed.  He  ran  here 
and  there  with  a  jovial  willingness.  Even  Kis- 
seck's  sneers  and  curses,  his  threats  and  blows, 
became  all  at  once  easier  to  bear.  "Be  aisy  with 
me.  Uncle  Bill",  he  would  say;  "be  aisy,  uncle, 
and  I'll  do  it  smart  and  quick  astonishin'."  Peo- 
ple marked  the  change.  'Tt's  none  so  daft  the 
lad  is  at  all,  at  all,"  they  said  sometimes.  This 
was  the  second  stage  of  Danny's  passion — and 
presently  came  the  third.  Then  arose  a  vague 
yearning  not  only  to  love  but  to  be  loved.  The 
satisfied  heart  had  not  asked  so  much  before, 
but  now  it  needed  this  further  sustenance.     Curi- 


88      SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

ous  and  pathetic  were  the  snnple  appeals  made 
by  Danny  for  the  affection  of  the  woman  he 
loved.  Sometimes  he  took  up  a  huge  fish  to  the 
cottage  of  the  Cregeens,  threw  it  on  the  floor, 
and  vanished.  Sometimes  he  talked  to  Mona  of 
what  great  thiaigs  he  had  done  in  his  time — 
what  fish  he  had  caught,  how  fast  he  had  rowed, 
and  what  weather  he  had  faced.  There  was  not 
a  lad  in  Peel  more  modest  than  Danny,  but  his 
simple  soul  was  struggling  in  this  way  with  a 
desire  to  make  itself  seem  worthy  of  Mona's  love. 
The  girl  would  listen  in  silence  to  the  accounts  of 
his  daring  deeds,  and  when  she  would  look  up 
with  a  glance  of  pity  into  his  animated  eyes,  the 
eyes  of  Danny  would  be  brave  no  more,  but  fall 
in  confusion  to  his  feet. 

Then,  bit  by  bit,  it  was  borne  in  on  Danny  that 
his  great,  strong,  simple  love  could  never  be 
returned ;  and  this  was  the  last  stage  of  his  affec- 
tion. The  idea  of  love  had  itself  been  hard  to 
realize,  but  much  harder  to  understand  was  the 
strange  and  solemn  idea  of  unrequited  passion. 
Twenty  times  had  Mona  tried  in  vain  to  convey 
this  idea  to  his  mind  without  doing  violence  to 
the  tenderness  of  the  lad's  nature.  But  that 
which  no  artifice  could  achieve  time  itself  accom- 
plished. Danny  began  to  stay  away  from  the 
cottage  on  the  *'brew,''  and  when,  in  pity  for  that 
unspeakable  sorrow  which  Mona  herself  knew 


SHE' IS  ALL  TtiE  WORLD  TO  ML.  89 

but  too  well,  the  girl  asked  him  why  he  did  not 
come  up  as  often  as  before,  he  answered,  "I'm 
thinking  it's  not  me  }'Ou're  wanting  up  there.'' 
And  Danny  felt  as  if  the  words  would  choke  him. 

Then  the  whole  world,  which  had  seemed 
brighter,  or  at  least  less  cruel,  became  bathed  in 
gloom.  The  lad  haunted  the  sea-shore.  The 
moan  of  the  long  dead  sea  seemed  to  speak  to 
him  in  a  voice  not  indeed  of  cheer  but  of  com- 
forting grief.  The  white  curves  of  the  breakers 
had  something  in  them  that  suited  better  with 
his  mood  than  the  sunlit  ripples  of  a  summer 
sea.  The  dapple-gray  clouds  that  scudded 
across  the  leaden  sky,  the  chill  wind  that  scat- 
tered the  salt  spray  and  whistled  along  the  gun- 
Vv'ale  of  his  boat,  the  mist,  the  scream  of  the  sea- 
bird — all  these  spoke  to  his  desolate  heart  in  an 
inarticulate  language  that  was  answered  by  tears. 

Poor  Danny,  a  hurricane  had  uprooted  tiie 
only  idol  of  your  soul,  and  for  you  the  one  flower 
of  life,  the  flower  of  love,  was  torn  up  an  withered 
forever ! 

Love?  Yes,  even  the  image  of  a  happy  love 
had  at  length  stood  up  for  one  moment  before 
his  mind,  even  before  his  mind.  That  love  itself 
might  have  been  possible  to  him,  yes,  possible 
to  such  a  one  as  he  was,  though  laughed  at — 
"rigged"  as  he  called  it — here,  there,  and  every- 
where— this  was  the  blessed  vision  of  one  brief 


90  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

instant.  He  thought  of  how  he  might  have 
clasped  her  hands  by  the  bright  sea,  and  looked 
lovingly  into  her  eyes.  But  no,  no,  no;  not  for 
him  had  God  sent  the  gracious  love,  and  Danny 
turned  in  his  dumb  despair  to  the  cold  winter  sea, 
shrinkink  from  every  human  face. 

"Is  there  not  a  storm  coming?''  said  Mona  to 
Danny,  as  she  and  Ruby  overtook  the  boy  on 
the  shore  that  morning. 

'*Ay,  the  long  cat's  tail  was  going  ofif  at  a  slant 
a  while  ago,  and  now  the  round  thick  slate  yon- 
der is  hanging  very  low." 

As  he  spoke,  Danny  turned  about  and  looked 
at  the  clouds  which  we  have  been  taught  to  know 
by  less  homely  names. 

''Danny,  Danny,"  interrupted  the  little  one, 
''what  is  that  funny  thing  you  told  me  the  sailors 
say  w^hen  the  wind  is  getting  up?" 

"  'Davy's  putting  on  the  copers  for  the  par- 
son,' ''  answered  the  lad,  absently,  and  without 
the  semblance  of  a  smile.  For  the  twentieth 
time  Ruby  laughed  and  crowed  over  the  dubious 
epigram. 

Mona  glanced  sometimes  at  Danny's  listless 
face  as  they  walked  together  along  the  shore 
with  the  child  between  them.  His  look  was  dull 
and  at  certain  moments  even  silly.  Once  she 
thought  she  saw  a  tear  glistening  in  his  eye,  but 
he  had  turned  his  head  away  in  an  instant.  There 


.SHE'S  ALL  THE  WOh'LI)   TO  ME.  'ji 

were  moments  when  her  heart  bled  for  him. 
People  thought  '  her  harsh  and  even  cynical. 
"Aw,  allis  cowld  and  freezin'  is  the  air  she  keeps 
about  her,"  they  would  say.  Perhaps  some  bit- 
ter experience  of  the  past  had  not  a  little  to  do 
with  this.  Nothing  so  sure  to  petrify  the  warmer 
sensibilities  as  neglect  and  wrong.  But  in  the 
presence  of  Danny's  silent  sorrow  the  girl's  heart 
melted,  and  the  almost  habitual  upward  cur\'e  at 
one  corner  of  her  mouth  disappeared.  She  knew 
something  of  his  suiYering.  She  could  read  it 
in  her  own.  At  some  thrilling  moment,  if 
Heaven  had  so  ordered  it,  they  two,  she  and  this 
simple  lad,  might  have  uncovered  to  the  other 
the  bleeding  wound  that  each  carried  hidden  in 
the  breast.  And  that  great  moment  was  yet  to 
come,  though  she  knew  it  not. 

Love  is  a  selfish  thing,  let  us  say  what  we  will 
of  it  besides. 

"Danny,"  said  Mona,  "have  you  seen  anything 
more  of  Christian?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  lad.  Some  momentary  re- 
morse on  Fiona's  part  compelled  her  to  glance 
into  Danny's  face.  There  was  no  trace  of  feel- 
ing there.  It  was  baffled  love,  and  not  jealousy, 
that  had  taken  the  joy  out  of  Danny's  life.  And 
as  yet  the  lad  not  once  reflected  that  if  ]\Iona  did 
not  love  him  it  was,  perhaps,  because  she  loved 
another. 


92  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

''He  isn't  going/'  continued  Danny. 

'Thank  God,"  said  Mona,  fervently.  "And 
"Kisseck,  does  he  still  mean  to  go?" 

*'Ay,  of  coorse  he's  going.  It'll  be  to-morrow, 
it  seems.     I'm  to  go,  too." 

''Dann-'  you  must  not  go,"  said  Mona,  drop- 
ping Rubv's  hand  to  take  hold  of  the  lad's  arm. 
He  glanced  up  vacantly. 

''Seems  to  me  it  doesn't  matter  what  I  do,"  he 
said. 

"But  it  does  matter,  Danny.  What  these  men 
are  attempting  is  crime — black,  cruel,  pitiless 
crime — murder,  no  less." 

"That's  W'hat  the  young  masther  was  sayin'," 
answered  the  lad,  absently;  "and  the  one  of  them 
hadn't  a  word  to  say  agen  it." 

Rub^^  had  tripped  away  for  a  moment.  Re- 
turning with  a  little  oval  thing  in  her  hand,  she 
cried,  "Danny,  what's  this?  I  found  it  under 
a  stone,  and  its  gills  were  shining  like  fire." 

"A  sea-mouse,"  said  the  lad,  and  taking  it  out 
of  the  child's  hand,  he  added,  "I'm  less  nor  this 
worm  to  our  Bill." 

"Danny,  would  it  hurt  you  much  if  you  w^ere 
to  hear  that  your  uncle  Kisseck  was  being  pun- 
ished?" 

The  lad  lifted  his  eyes  with  a  bewildered  stare. 
The  idea  that  Bill  Kisseck  could  be  punished 
had  never  really  come  to  him  as  within  tne  limils 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  ri 

of  possibility.  Once,  indeed,  he  had  thought 
of  something  that  he  might  himself  do,  but  the 
wild  notion  had  vanished  with  the  next  glance 
at  Kisseck's  face. 

"He  could  be  punished,"  said  ^lona,  "and 
must  be." 

Then  Danny's  eyes  glittered  and  looked 
strange,  but  he  said  not  a  word.  They  walked 
on,  the  happy  child  once  more  taking  a  hand 
from  each,  and  laughing,  prattling,  leaping,  and 
making  little  runs  between  them.  Ruby  was  in 
a  deeper  sense  the  hnk  that  bound  them,  and  in 
the  deepest  sense  of  all  she  was  the  link  that  held 
them  apart  forever.  They  had  walked  to  the 
mouth  of  the  harbor,  and  ]Mona  held  out 
her  hand  to  say  good-bye.  Danny  looked 
beyond  her  over  the  sea.  There  was 
something  in  his  face  that  ^lona  had  never  be- 
fore seen  there.  What  it  meant  she  knew  not 
then,  except  that  in  a  moment  he  had  grown  to 
look  old.  "The  storm  is  coming,"  said  ]\Iona. 
"I  see  the  diver  out  at  sea.  Do  you  hear  his 
wild  note?'' 

"Ay,  and  ye  see  ^lother  Carey's  chicken  yon- 
der,'' said  Danny,  pointing  where  the  stormy 
petrel  was  scudding  close  to  a  white  wave  and 
uttering  a  dismal  cry.  Then,  absently  and  in 
a  low  tone,  "I  think  at  whiles  I'd  hke  to  die  in  a 
big  sea  like  that,''  said  the  lad. 


94  'HE  Oil  aiUOM  3 HI  IIY  8.3 ES 

Mona  looked  for  a  moment  in  silence  into  the 
lad's  hopeless  eyes.  Danny  turned  back  ^vith 
his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  his  face  towards  the 
sand. 

Truly  a  storm  was  coming-,  and  it  was  a  storm 
more  terrible  than  wind  and  rain. 

Alona  and  Ruby  continued  their  walk.  It  was 
the  slack  season  at  the  factory,  and  Mr.  Kinvig's 
jewel  in  looms  w^as  compelled  to  stand  idle  three 
working  days  out  of  the  six.  The  young  woman 
and  the  child  passed  down  the  quay  to  the 
bridge,  crossed  to  the  foot  of  the  Horse-hill,  and 
walked  along  the  south  side  of  the  harbor — now 
full  of  idle  luggers — towards  Contrary  Head. 
When  they  reached  the  narrow  strait  which  cut 
off  the  Castle  Isle  from  the  main-land,  they  took 
a  path  that  led  upward  over  Contrary  Head.  A 
little  way  up  the  hill  they  passed  Bill  Kisseck's 
cottage.  The  house  stood  on  a  wild  headland, 
and  faced  nothing  but  the  ruined  castle  and  the 
open  sea.  An  old  quarry  had  once  been  worked 
on  the  spot,  and  Kisseck's  cottage  stood  with 
its  front  to  what  must  have  been  the  level 
cutting,  and  its  back  to  the  straight  wall  of  rock. 
A  path  wound  round  the  house  and  came  close 
to  the  edge  of  the  little  precipice.  Mona  took 
this  path,  and  as  they  walked  past  the  back  part 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  95 

of  the  roof  a  woman's  head  looked  out  of  a  Httle 
dormered  window  that  stood  in  the  thatch. 

"Good-morning,  Bridget,"  said  Mona,  cheer- 
fully. 

"Good-mornin',"  answered  Bridget,  morosely. 
''It's  middlin'  cowld,  isn't  it,  missis,  for  you  and 
that  poor  babby  to  be  walkin'  up  there?" 

"It's  a  sharp  morning,  but  we're  strong  and 
well,  Rubv  and  I,''  said  ^lona,  going  on. 

'The  crathur!"  mumbled  Bridget  to  herself 
when  they  were  gone,  ''it's  not  lookin'  like  it  she 
is  anyway,  with  a  face  as  white  as  a  haddick." 

Mona  and  the  little  one  walked  briskly  along: 
the  path,  which  from  Kisseck's  cottage  was  near- 
ly level,  and  cut  across  the  Head  towards  the 
south.  There  was  a  second  path  a  few  yards  be- 
low them,  and  between  these  two,  at  a  distance 
of  some  five  or  six  hundred  yards  from  the 
house,  was  the  open  shaft  of  an  old  disused  lead- 
mine  which  has  since  been  filled  up. 

''What  a  dreadful  pit,"  said  Ruby,  clinging  to 
Mona's  skirts  in  the  wind.  They  continued  their 
walk  until  they  came  to  a  steep  path  that  led 
down  to  a  little  bay.  Then  they  paused,  and 
looked  back,  around,  and  beneath.  Overhead 
were  the  drifting  black  clouds,  heavy,  wide,  and 
low.  Behind  was  the  Horse  Hill,  purple  to  the 
summit  with  gorse.  To  the  north  was  the  Castle 
Island,  with  its   Fennella's  Tower  against  the 


96      SHE'S  ALL  TEE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

sky,  and  the  black  rocks,  fringed  at  the  water's 
edge  with  white  spray.  Beneath  was  the  nar- 
row covelet  cleft  of  the  hill-side,  and  apparently 
accessible  only  from  the  sea.  In  front  was  the 
ocean,  whose  moan  came  up  to  them  mingled 
with  the  shrill  cry  of  the  long-necked  birds  that 
labored  midway  in  the  burdened  air. 

''What  is  the  name  of  that  pretty  bay?"  asked 
the^child. 

'Toolvash,"  answered  Mona, 

''And  what  does  it  mean?"  asked  the  little  one. 

"The  Bay  of  Death,"  said  Mona;  "that's  what 
they  used  to  call  it  long  ago,  but  they  call  it  the 
Lockjaw  now." 

"And  what  does  that  mean?"  asked  Ruby 
again,  with  a  child's  tireless  curiosity. 

"It  means,  I  suppose,  that  the  tide  comes  up 
into  it,^nd  then  no  one  can  get  either  in  or  out." 

"Oh  what  a  pity!  Look  at  the  lovely  shells  in. 
the  shingle,"  said  Ruby. 

Just  then  a  step  was  heard  on  the  path  below, 
and  in  a  moment  Bill  Kisseck  came  up  beside 
them.  He  looked  suspiciously  at  Mona  and 
passed  without  a  word. 

"That  gel  of  Kinvig's  is  sniffin'  round,"  he  said 
to  his  wife  when  he  reached  home.  "She 
wouldn't  be  partikler  what  she'd  do  if  she  got  a 
peep  and  a  skute  into  anything." 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  97 

"Didn't  you  say  no  one  could  get  up  or  down 
the  Lockjaw  when  the  tide  is  up?"  asked  Ruby 
as  she  tripped  home  at  Mona's  side. 
-  *'Yes,"  said  ^lona,  "except  from  the  sea." 
"And  isn't  the  tide  up  now?"  said  Ruby.  Mona 
did  not  answer. 

That  night  the  storm  that  Danny  had  pre- 
dicted from  the  aspect  of  the  "cat's  tail"  and  the 
"skate"  broke  over  Peel  with  terrific  violence. 
When  morning  dawned  it  was  found  that  barns 
had  been  unroofed  and  that  luggers  in  the  har- 
bor had  been  torn  from  their  m.oorings.  The 
worst  damage  done  was  to  the  old  wooden  pier 
and  the  little  wooden  light-house.  These  had 
been  torn  entirely  away,  and  nothing  remained 
but  the  huge  stone  foundations  wdiich  were  vis- 
ible now  at  the  bottom  of  the  ebb  tide.  The 
morning  was  clear  and  fine,  the  wind  had  drop- 
ped, and  only  the  svv'elling  billows  in  the  bay 
and  the  timbers  floating  on  every  side  remained 
to  tell  of  last  nigjiit's  tempest. 

Little  Ruby  was  early  stirring,  and  before 
Mona  and  her  mother  were  awake  she  ran  down 
the  hill  towards  Peel.  An  hour  passed  and  the 
little  one  had  not  returned.  Two  hours  Vv-ent  by, 
and  Mona  could  see  no  sign  of  the  child  from 
the  corner  of  the  road.  Then  she  became  anx- 
ious, and  went  in  search  of  her. 


98  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

''Geer  out  of  this  and  take  the  boat  round  to 
the  Lockjaw,  d'ye  hear?"  shouted  Bill  Kisseck, 
"and  see  if  any  harm's  been  done  down  there. 
Take  a  rope  or  two  and  that  tarpaulin  and  cover 
up  anything  that's  wet." 

Danny  lifted  the  tarpaulin,  and  went  quietly 
out  of  the  house. 

"ril  never  make  nothin'  of  that  lad,"  said  Kis- 
seck ;  "he  hasn't  a  word  to  chuck  at  a  dog." 

Danny  walked  down  to  the  harber,  threw  the 
tarpaulin  and  two  ropes  into  the  boat,  got  inTo 
it  himself,  took  the  oar,  and  began  to  scull  to- 
wards the  sea.  As  he  passed  the  ruined  end  of 
the  pier  a  voice  hailed  him.  He  looked  up.  It 
was  Christian  Mylrea. 

''If  you  are  going  round  the  Head  I'd  like  to 
go  with  you,"  said  Christian.  ''I  want  to  see 
what  mischief  the  sea  has  done  to  the  west  wall 
of  the  oastle.  Five  years  ago  a  sto-rm  like  this 
swept  away  ten  yards  of  it,  at  least." 

Danny  touched  his  cap  and  pulled  up  to  the 
pier.  Christian  dropped,  hand  under  hand, 
down  a  fixed  w^ooden  ladder,  and  into  the  boat. 
Then  they  sculled  away.  When  they  reached 
the  west  of  the  island,  and  had  with  difficulty 
brought-to  against  the  rocks,  Christian  landed, 
and  found  the  old  boundaiy  v/all  overlooking 
the  traditional  Giant's  Grave  torn  down  to  the 
dept  of  several  feet.  His  interest  was  so  strongly 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  99 

aroused  that  he  would  have  stayed  longer  than 
Danny's  business  allowed.  ''Leave  me  here  and 
call  as  you  return,"  he  said,  and  then,  with  char- 
acteristic irresolution,  he  added,  "Xo,  take  me 
with  you." 

The  morning  was  fine  but  cold,  and  to  keep 
up  a  comfortable  warmth  Christian  took  an  oar, 
and  they  rowed. 

'This  pestilential  hole,  I  hate  it,"  said  Chris- 
tian, as  they  swept  into  the  Lockjaw.  ''How 
high  tlT?e  tide  is  here,"  he  added,  in  another  tone. 

They  ran  the  boat  up  the  shingle  and  jumped 
ashore.  As  they  did  so  their  ears  became  sen- 
sible of  a  feeble  moan.  Turning  about  they 
saw  something  ly-ing  on  the  stones.  It  was  a 
child.  Christian  ran  to  it  and  picked  it  up.  It 
was  little  Ruby.  She  was  cold  and  apparently 
insensible.  Christian's  face  was  livid,  and  his 
eyes  seemed  to  start  from  his  head. 

"Merciful  God,"  he  cried,  "what  can  have  hap- 
pened?" 

Then  a  torrent  of  emotion  came  over  him,  and, 
bending  on  one  knee,  with  the  child  in  his  arms, 
the  tears  coursed  down  his  cheeks.  He  hugged 
the  little  one  to  his  breast  to  warm  it;  he  chafed 
its  little  hands  and  kissed  its  pale  lips,  and  cried, 
"Ruby,  Ruby,  my  darling,  my  darling!" 

Danny  stood  by  with  amazement  written  on 
his  face.     Rising;  to  his  feet.  Christian  bore  his 


100  SBE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME, 

burden  to  the  boat,  and  called  on  Danny  to  push 
ofif  and  away.  The  lad  did  so  without  a  word. 
Ha-  felt  as  if  something  was  choking  him,  and  he 
could  not  speak.  Christian  stripped  ofif  his  coat 
and  wrapped  it  about  the  child.  Phesently  the 
little  one's  eyes  opened,  and  she  whispered, 
*'How  cold!"  and  cried  piteously.  When  the 
tears  had  ceased  to  flow,  but  still  stood  in  big 
drops  on  the  little  face.  Ruby  looked  up  at  Chris- 
tian and  then  towards  Danny,  where  he  sculled 
at  the  stern. 

''She  wants  to  go  to  you,"  said  Christian,  after 
a  pause,  and  witli  a  great  gulp  in  his  throat. 
Danny  dropped  the  oar  and  lifted  the  child  very 
tenderly  in  his  big  horny  hands.  ''Ruby  ven, 
Ruby  ven,"  he  whispered  hoarsely,  and  the  little 
one  put  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  drew  down 
his  head  to  kiss  him. 

Christian  turned  his  awn  head  aside  in  agony. 
*'Mercy,  mercy,  have  mercy!"  he  cried,  with  his 
eyes  towards  the  sky.  "What  have  I  lost! 
What  love  have  I  lost!" 

He  took  the  oars,  and  with  head  bent  he 
pulled  in  silence  towards  the  town.  When  they 
got  there  he  took  the  little  one  again  in  his  arm.s 
and  carried  her  to  the  cottage  on  the  "brevvv" 
Mona  had  newly  returned  from  a  fruitless 
search.  She  and  her  mother  stood  together 
with  anxious    faces    as    Christian,  bearing  th? 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  loi 

child,  entered  the  cottage  and  stopped  m  the 
middle  of  the  floor.  Danny  Fayle  was  behind 
him.  There  was  a  moment's  silence.  At  length 
Christian  said,  huskily,  **We  found  her  in  the 
Poolvash,  cut  off  by  the  tide." 

No  one  spoke.  Mona  took  Ruby  out  of  his 
arms  and  sat  with  her  before  the  fire.  Christian 
stepped  to  the  back  of  the  chair  and  looked 
dow^n  into  the  child's  eyes,  now  wet  with  fresh 
tears.  Airs.  Cregeen  gazed  into  his  face.  Not 
a  word  was  said  to  him.  He  took  up  his  coat, 
turned  aside,  paused  for  an  instant  at  the  door, 
and  then  walked  away. 


102       SHE'8  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME, 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE    SHOCKIN'   powerful   SKAME. 

'Tve  two  mammas,  haven't  I?"  cried  Ruby, 
between  her  sobs,  as  Mona  warmed  her  cold 
limbs  and  kissed  her. 

Danny  had  sat  on  the  settle  and  looked  on 
with  wondering  eyes.  He  glanced  from  Mona's 
face  to  Ruby-s,  and  from  Ruby's  back  to  Mona's. 
Some  vague  and  startling  idea  was  struggling 
its  way  into  his  sluggish  mind. 

The  child  was  warm  and  well  in  a  little  while, 
and  turning  to  Danny,  Mona  said,  "Is  it  all  set- 
tled that  you  told  me  of?'' 

"Yes,"  answered  the  lad. 

'Ts  it  to  be  to-day?" 

''Ay;  they're  to  go  out  at  high-water  with  the 
line  for  cod,  and  not  come  back  till  it's  time  to 
do  it." 

''Has  any  change  been  made  in  their  arrange- 
ments?" 

"No,  ^cept  that  the  pier  bein'  swept  away, 
they're  to  run  down  the  lamp  that  the  harbor- 
master has  stuck  up  on  a  pole." 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  103 

"Is  it  certain  that  Christian  will  not  be  with 
them?'' 

"Ay,  full  certain.  They  came  nigh  to  blows 
over  it  last  night.*' 

"And  you  will  not  go,  Danny?'' 

"No,  no;  when  I  take  back  the  boat  I'll  get 
out  of  the  road." 

"The  harbor-master  is  to  be  decoyed  away 
to  the  carol-singing  and  the  hunting  of  the 
wren?'' 

"Ay,  Davy  Cain  and  Tommy  Tear  are  at  the 
job."' 

"And  when  it  is  high-water  to-night?'' 

"About  eleven,  but  the  Frenchman  is  mean- 
ing to  run  in  at  ten.  I  heard  Bill  say  that, 
houldin'  in  his  breath." 

"You're  quite  sure  about  Christian?"  asked 
Mona  again. 

"Aw  yes,  certain  sure." 

"Then  will  you  come  back  here  to-night  at 
six  o'clock,  Danny?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  lad,  and  he  went  out  and  down 
towards  the  shore. 

Mona  hastened  with  all  speed  to  the  house  of 
Kerruish  Kinvig.  There  in  breathless  haste, 
but  in  the  most  logical  sequence,  she  disclosed 
the  whole  infamous  scheme  which  was  afoot  to 
wreck  a  merchantman  that  was  expected  to  nm 
into  port  on    a    smuggling    adventure  at  ten 


104     SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

o'clock  that  night.  This  was  the  pl^t  as  Mona 
presented  it  to  Mr.  Kinvig.  The  harbor-mas- 
ter's musical  weakness  was  to  be  played  upon, 
and  he  was  to  be  got  out  of  the  way,  two  of  Kis- 
seck's  gang  remaining  ashore  for  that  purpose. 
At  mid-day  (that  was  ^o  say  in  two  hours)  Kis- 
seck  and  six  men  were  to  set  out  in  the  Ben-my- 
Chree  on  pretence  of  line-fishing.  At  nine  that 
night  they  were  to  return.  Kisseck  himself  and 
three  others  were  to  put  ashore  in  the  dingy  on 
the  west  coast  of  the  Castle  Isle,  and  there  lie 
in  wait.  The  other  two  were  to  take  the  lugger 
round  to  harbor,  and  in  doing  sO'  were  to  run 
down  the  temporary  light  put  up  on  the  ruined 
end  of  the  pier.  False  lights  were  then  to  be 
put  on  the  south-west  of  the  castle,  and  when 
the  merchantman  came  up  to  discharge  her  con- 
traband goods,  she  was  to  run  on  the  rocks  and 
be  wrecked. 

Such  was  the  scheme  as  Mona  expounded  it. 
Kerruish  Kinvig  blustered  and  swore;  wanted 
to  know  what  the  authorities  were  good  for  if 
private  people  had  to  bedevil  themselves  with 
these  dastardly  affairs.  It  was  easy  to  see,  how- 
ever, that,  despite  his  protestations,  Mr.  Kerru- 
ish, with  this  beautiful  nut  to  crack  and  a  terrific 
row  to  kick  up,  was  in  his  joyful  element.  Away 
he  scoured  to  the  house  of  Mylrea  Balladhoo, 
dragging  Mona  along  with  him.    There  the 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  ]0d 

story  was  repeated,  and  various  sapient  sug- 
gestion's were  thrown  out  by  Kinvig.  Finally 
and  mainly  at  Mona's  own  instigation,  a  plan 
was  concocted  by  which  not  only  the  wrecking 
would  be  prevented,  but  the  would-be  wreckers 
were  to  be  captured.  This  was  the  scheme. 
The  harbor-miaster  was  to  be  allowed  to  fall  a 
prey  to  the  device  of  the  plotters.  ("I'd  have 
him  in  Castle  Rushen,  the  stone-deaf  scoun- 
drel," shouted  Kinvig.)  I\Ir.  Kinvig  himself  was 
to  be  the  person  to  go  to  Castle  Rushen.  He 
was  to  set  ofif  at  once  and  bring  back  under  the 
darkness  a  posse  of  police  or  soldiers  in  private 
clothes.  Eight  of  these  were  to  be  secreted  in 
the  ruined  castle.  Mona  herself  was  to  go  on  to 
the  Contrary^  Head,  and  the  instant  the  light  on 
the  pier  had  been  run  down  ishe  was  to  light  a 
lamp  as  a  signal  to  the  police  in  ambush,  and  as 
a  warning  to  the  merchantinen  out  at  sea. 
Then  the  eight  police  were  to  pounce  down  on 
the  wreckers  lying  in  wait  under  the  castle's 
western  walls. 

So  it  was  agreed,  and  on  a  horse  of  ^lylrea 
Balladlioo's  Kerruish  Kinvig  started  immediate- 
ly for  Castletown,  taking  tEe  precaution  not  to 
pass  through  the  town. 

i\Iona  hastened  home,  and  there  to  her  sur- 
prise found  Danny.  *The  young  masther  is  to 
go,''  he  cried.     What  had  happened  was  this. 


106  SHE'S  ALL  TEE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

On  taking  the  boat  back  to  its  moorings,  the 
lad  had  ben  making  his  way  towards  Orry's 
Head,  as  the  remotest  and  most  secluded  quar- 
ter, w4ien  he  passed  Christian  and  a  strange 
gentleman  in  the  streets,  and  overheard  frag- 
ments of  their  conversation.  The  stranger  was 
protesting  that  he  must  see  Christian's  father. 
At  length,  and  as  if  driven  to  despair,  the  young 
master  said, 

''Give  me  until  to-morrow  morning." 

''Very  good,"  the  stranger  answered,  "but 
not  an  hour  longer."  They  parted,  and  imme- 
diately Bill  Kisseck  with  Davy  Cain  and  Tom- 
my Tear  came  round  a  street  corner  and  en- 
countered Christian. 

'T'll  join  you,"  Christian  said,  with  an  oath. 
"When  do  you  sail?" 

'Tn  half  an  'hour,"  Kisseck  -anrnvcfl-ed,  pro- 
fessing himself  mightily  pleased  to  have  Chris- 
tian's company.  Then  Christian  turned  away, 
and  Kisseck  grunted  to  the  men, 

"It  was  necessary  to  get  that  chap  into  it, 
you  know.  His  iather  is  the  magistrate,  and 
if  anything  should  go  wrong  he'll  have  to  hush 
it  up."     The  others  laughed. 

Danny  saw  that  there  was  not  a  moment  to 
lose.  In  half  an  hour  the  young  master  would 
be  aboard  the  Ben-my-Chree  on  pretence  of 
going  out  with  the  lines.     Danny  started  away, 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  i07 

but  Kisseck  having  seen  him,  hailed  him,  and 
threw  down  a  pair  of  sea-boots  for  him  to  pick 
up  and  take  down  to  the  boat. 

''And  stay  there  till  we  come,"  Kisseck  said 
in  going-  off.  The  errand  took  several  of  Dan- 
ny's precious  minutes,  but,  throwing  the  boots 
down  the  hatchways,  he  set  off  for  the  "brew,'' 
taking  care  to  run  along  the  shore  this  time. 

Mona  heard  his  stor}^  with  horror.  She  had 
already  set  the  police  on  the  crew  of  the  lugger. 
She  could  not  undo  what  she  had  done.  Ker- 
ruish  Kinvig  must  be  already  far  on  his  way 
to  Castle  Rushen.  It  was  certain  that  every 
man  who  went  out  in  the  boat  must  be  cap- 
tured on  her  return.  The  only  thing  left  to  do 
was  to  prevent  Christian  going  out  with  her  at 
all.  "He  shall  not  go,"  cried  ]\Iona,  and  she 
hurried  away  to  the  quay.  "He  shall  not  go," 
she  murmured  to  herself  once  again;  but  as  she 
reached  the  harbor,  Vvliite  and  breathless,  she 
saw  the  Ben-my-Chree  sailing  out  into  the  bay, 
and  Christian  standing  on  her  deck. 


108  SHE'8  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

STRONG   KNOTS   OF   LOVE. 

"At  six  o'clock  the  night  had  closed  in.  It 
was  as  black  as  ink.  Not  a  star  had  appeared, 
but  a  sharp  southwest  wind  was  blowing,  and 
the  night  might  lighten  later  on.  In  the  cot- 
tage on  the  "brew"  a  bright  turf-fire  \vas  burn- 
ing, and  it  filled  the  kitchen  with  a  ruddy  glow. 
Little  Ruby  was  playing  on  a  sheep-skin  before 
the  hearth.  Old  Mrs.  Cregeen  sat  knitting  in 
an  arm-chair  at  one  side  of  the  ingle.  Her 
grave  face,  always  touching  to  look  at,  seemed 
more  than  ever  drawn  down  with  lines  of 
pain.  Ever  few  minutes  she  stopped  to  listen 
for  footsteps  that  did  not  come,  or  to  gaze  va- 
oantly  into  the  fire.  Mona  was  standing  at  a 
table  cutting  slices  of  bread  and  butter.  At 
some  moments  her  lips  quivered  with  agita- 
tion, but  she  held  the  knife  with  the  steady 
grasp  of  a  man's  hand.  Pale  and  quiet,  with 
courage  and  resolution  on  every  feature,  this 
wms  the  woman  for  a  great  emergency.  And 
her  hour  was  at  hand.     Heaven  grant  that  her 


aS'Z/£'6'  all  TUL   would  to  me.  1(i^.» 

fortitude  may  not  desert  her  to-night.  She 
needs  it  all. 

A  white  face,  with  eyes  full  of  fear,  looked  in 
at  the  dark  window.  It  was  Danny  Fayie.  "Come 
in,-'  said  Mona;  but  he  would  not  come.  He 
must  speak  with  her  outside.  She  went  out  to 
him.  He  was  trembling  with  .excitement.  He 
told  her  that  Kerruish  Kinvig  had  returned,  and 
brought  with  him  the  men  from  Castle  Rushen. 
There  were  eight  of  them.  They  had  been 
across  to  the  old  castle  and  had  opened  a  vault 
in  St.  Patrick's  chapel.  There  they  had  found 
rolls  of  thread  lace,  casks  of  winies  and  spirits, 
and  boxes  of  tea.  This  was  not  important,  but 
Danny  had  one  fact  to  communicate  which 
made  ^Mona's  excitement  almost  equal  to  his 
own.  In  a  single  particular  the  arrangcm.ent 
suggested  by  herself  and  agreed  upon  with  ivl'yl- 
rea  the  magistrate  had  been  altered.  Instead  of 
the  whole  eight  men  going  over  to  the  castle, 
four  only,  with  Kinvig  as  a  guide,  vrere  to  be 
stationed  there.  The  other  four  were  to  be 
placed  on  the  hill-side  above  Bill  Kisseck's 
house  to  watch  it. 

This  change  was  an  unexpected  and  almost 
fatal  blow  to  a  scheme  which  ^lona  had  all  day 
been  concocting  for  the  relief  of  the  men  on 
the  Ben-my-Chree  from  the  meshes  in  which 
she  herself  had  imprisoned  them. 


ilO  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

Mona's  anxiety  was  greatest  now  that  her 
hope  seemed  least.  Rescme  the  men — Christian 
being  one  of  them — she  must,  God  helping  her. 
Like  a  sorceress,  whose  charm  has  worked  only 
too  fatally,  Mona's  whole  soul  was  engaged  to 
break  her  own  deadly  spell.  She  conceived 
a  means  of  escape,  but  she  could  not  without 
help  bring  her  design  to  bear.  Would  this 
lad  help  her?  Danny?  She  had  seen  the 
agony  of  his  despair  wither  up  the  last  gleam  of 
sunshine  on  his  poor,  helpless  face. 

"Did  you  say  that  Mr.  Kinvig  is  to  be  with 
the  men  in  the  castle?" 

"Yes,"  said  Danny. 

"Is  Mr.  Mylrea  to  be  with  the  others  above 
your  uncle's  house?" 

"No.  They  wanted  him,  but  he  was  too  old, 
he  was  sayin',  and  went  off  to  find  Christian  and 
send  him  to  be  a  guide  to  the  strangers." 

"That  is  very  good,"  said  Mona,  "and  we  can 
manage  it  yet.  Danny,  do  you  go  off  to  the 
castle — the  tide  is  down;  you  can  ford  it,  can't 
you?" 

"If  I'm  quick.     It's  on  the  turn." 

"Go  at  once.  The  men  are  not  there  now, 
are  they?" 

"No,  they  came  across  half  an  hour  ago." 

"Good  They'll  return  to  the  castle  just  be- 
fore nine.     Go  vou  at  this  moment.       Ford  it 


SHE'S  ALL  TEE  WORLD  TO  ME.  l!i 

and  they'll  see  no  boat.  Hide  yourself  among 
the  ruins — in  the  guard-room — in  the  long  pass- 
age— in  the  cell  under  the  cathedral — in  the 
sally-port — among  the  rocks  outside — any- 
where— and  wait  until  the  Castle  Rushen  men 
arrive.  As  soon  as  they  are  landed  and  out  of 
sight,  get  you  down  to  where  they  have  moored 
their  boat,  jump  into  it  and  pull  away.  That 
will  cut  off  five  of  the  nine,  and  keep  them  pris- 
oners on  the  Castle  Rock  until  tomorrow  morn- 
ing's ebb  tide." 

''But  where  am  I  to  go  in  the  boat?''  asked 
Danny. 

i\Iona  came  closer,  'Tsn't  it  true,"  she  whis- 
pened,  "that  Kisseck  and  the  re'st  of  them  go  fre- 
quently to  the  creek  that  they  call  the  Lockjaw?" 

''How  did  you  know  it,  IMona?" 

"Never  mind,  now,  Danny.  Do  you  pull 
down  to  the  Lockjaw;  run  ashore  there;  climb 
the  brow  above,  and  wait." 

"Wait?— why?  until  when?" 

"Danny,  from  the  head  of  the  Lockjaw  you 
can  see  the  light  on  the  end  of  the  pier.  I've 
been  there  myself  and  know  you  can.  Keep 
your  eye  fixed  on  that  light." 

"Yes,  yes;  well,  well?" 

"The  moment  you  see  the  light  go  down  on 
the  pier — no  matter  v^-hen — no  matter  what  else 
has  happened — do  you  that  instant  set  fire  to 


112  SHE'S  ALL  TEE  WORLD  TO  ME, 

the  g"orse  about  you.  Fire  it  here,  there,  everyx 
where  as  if  it  were  the  night  of  May-day." 

"Yes;  what  then?" 

'Then  creep  down  to  the  shore  and  wait 
again." 

"What  will  happen,  Mona?" 

"This — Kisseck  and  the  men  with  him  will 
see  your  light  over  the  Lockjaw,  and  guess  that 
it  is  a  signal  of  danger.  If  they  have  half  wit 
they'll  know  that  it  must  be  meant  for  them. 
Then  they'll  jump  into  their  boat  and  pull  down 
to  you." 

"When  they  come,  what  am  I  to  say?" 

"Say  that  the  police  from  Castle  Rushen  are 
after  them ;  that  four  are  cut  off  in  the  castle,  and 
four  more  are  on  the  Horse  Hill  above  Con- 
trary. Tell  them  to  get  back,  every  man  of 
them,  to  Kisseck's  house  as  fast  as  their  legs  will 
carry  them." 

Danny's  intelligence  might  be  sluggish  at  or- 
dinary moments,  but  to-night  it  was  suddenly 
charged  with  a  ready  man's  swiftness  and  in- 
sight. "But  the  Castle  Rushen  men  on  the 
Horse  Hill  will  see  the  burning  gorse,"  he  said. 

"True — ah,  yes,  Danny,  that's  tr — .  I  have 
it!  I  have  it!"  exclaimed  the  girl.  "There  are 
two  paths  from  the  Lockjaw  to  Kisseck's  house. 
I  walked  both  of  them  with  Ruby,  yesterday. 
One  goes  above  the  open  shaft  of  the  old  lead- 


SHE'S  ALL  THE   WORLD  TO  ME.  113 

mine,  the  other  below  it.  Tell  the  men  to  take 
the  low  road — the  low^  road ;  be  sure  you  say  the 
low  road — and  if  the  police  see  your  fire  I'll  send 
them  along  the  high  road,  and  so  they  will  pass 
with  a  cliff  between  them.That's  it,  thank  God. 
You  understand  me,  Danny?  Are  you  quite 
sure  you  understand  even-thing — every  little 
thing?"  ^ 

''Yes,  I  do,"  said  the  lad,  with  the  energy  of 
a  man. 

^'When  they  get  to  Ivisseck's  cottage  let  them 
smoke,  drink,  gamble,  swear — anything — to 
make  believe  they  have  never  been  out  to-night. 
You  know  what  I  mean?" 

''I  do,"  repeated  the  lad. 

He  was  a  new  being.  His  former  self  seemed 
in  that  hour  to  drop  from  him  like  a  garment. 

IMona  looked  at  him  in  the  dim  light  shot 
through  the  window  from  the  fire,  and  for  an 
instant  her  heart  smote  her.  What  was  she  do- 
ing with  this  lad?  What  was  he  doing  for  her. 
Love  was  her  pole-star.  What  was  his?  Only 
the  blank  self-abandonment  of  despair.  For 
love  of  Christian  she  was  risking  all  this.  But 
the  wild  force  that  inspired  the  heart  of  this  sim- 
ple lad  was  love  for  her  wdio  loved  anothen 
.Whose  was  the  nobler  part,  hers  who  hoped  all, 
or  his  who  hoped  nothing?  In  the  darkness 
she  felt  her  face  flush  deep.     Oh,  what  a  great 


114  SEE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

little  heart  was  here — here,  in  this  outcast  boy; 
this  neglected,  down-trodden,  despised  and  re- 
jected, poor,  pitiful  waif  of  humanity. 

''Danny,"  she  murmured,,  with  plaintive  ten- 
derness, ''it  is  wrong  of  me  to  ask  you  to  do  this 
for  me — very,  very  wrong." 

His  eyes  were  dilated.  The  face,  hitherto 
unutterably  mournful  to  see,  was  alive  with  a 
strange  fire.  But  he  said  nothing.  He  turned 
his  head  towards  the  lonely  sea,  whose  low  moan 
came  up  through  the  dark  night. 

She  caught  both  his  hands  with  a  passionate 
grasp.  "Danny,"  she  murmured  again,  "if  there 
was  another  name  for  love  that  is  not — " 

She  stopped,  but  her  eyes  were  close  to  his. 

He  turned.  "Don't  look  like  that,"  he  cried, 
in  a  voice  that  went  to  the  girl's  heart  like  an 
arrow. 

She  dropped  his  hands.  She  trembled  and 
glowed.  "Oh,  my  own  heart  will  break,"  she 
said;  "to  love  and  not  be  loved,  to  be  loved  and 
not  to  love — " 

("I  think  at  whiles  I'd  like  to  die  in  a  big  sea 
like  that.") 

Mona  started.  What  had  recalled  Danny's 
strange  words?  Had  he  spoken  them  afresh? 
No. 

"Danny,"  she  murmured  once  more,  in  tones 
of  endearment,  and  again  she  grasped  his  hands. 


SHE';^  ALL  THE  MOULD  TO  ME.  119 

Their  eyes  met.  The  longing,  yearning  look 
in  hers  answered  to  the  wild  glare  in  his. 

''Don't  look  at  me  like  that,''  he  repeated,  with 
the  same  low  moan. 

Mona  felt  as  if  that  were  the  last  she  was  ever 
to  see  of  the  lad  in  this  weary  world.  He  loved 
her  with  all  his  great,  broken,  bleeding  heart. 
Her  lips  quivered.  Then  the  brave,  fearless,  stain- 
less girl  put  her  quivering  lips  tc  his. 

To  Danny  that  touch  was  as  fire.  With  a 
passionate  zry  he  flung  his  arms  about  her.  For 
an  instant  her  head  lay  on  his  breast.  "Xow 
go,"  she  whispered,  and  broke  from  his  em-^ 
brace. 


ti6  BHEPS  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 


CHAPTER  XIIL 

THE   FLIGHT  AND   PURSUIT. 

Danny  tore  himself  away  with  heart  and  brain 
aflame.  Were  they  to  meet  again?  Yes.  For 
one  terrible  and  perilous  moment  they  were  yet 
to  stand  face  to  face.  As  he  ran  down  the  road 
towards  the  town,  Danny  encountered  a  gang 
of  men  with  lanterns,  whooping,  laughing,  sing- 
ing carols,  and  beating  the  bushes.  It  was  the 
night  before  Christmas-e\^e,  and  they  were 
^'hunting  the  wren."  Tommy  Tear  and  Davy 
Cain  were  among  them.  Danny  heard  their 
loud  voices,  and  knew  they  had  trapped  the 
harbor-master.  The  first  act  in  to-night's  trag- 
edy had  begun. 

Two  hours  and  a  half  later  Mona  passed  the 
same  troop  of  men.  They  were  now  standing 
in  the  Market-place.  Tommy  Tear  and  Davy 
Cain  had  a  long  pole  from  shoulder  to  shoulder, 
and  from  this  huge  bracket  a  tiny  bird — a  wren 
• — was  suspended.  It  was  one  of  their  Christ- 
mas customs.  Their  companions  came  up  at 
intervals  and  plucked  a  feather  from  the  wren^s 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  Wi 

breast.  Tommy  Bill-beg  was  singing  a  carol. 
A  boy  held  a  lantern  to  a  crimipled  paper,  from 
which  the  unlettered  coxcomb  pretended  to  sing. 

^lona  hurried  on.  Her  immediate  destina- 
tion was  the  net-factory.  There  she  found  the 
company  of  nine  or  ten  men.  She  was  taken 
into  the  midst  of  them.  "This  is  the  young 
woman,''  shouted  Kerruish  Kinvig;  "and  when 
some  of  you  fellows,"  he  added,  ''have  been  po- 
lice for  fifty  years,  and  are  grown  gray  in  the 
service,  you  may  do  worse  than  come  here  and 
go  to  school  to  this  girl  of  two-and-twenty." 

There  was  some  superior  and  depreciatory 
laughter,  and  then  ^lona  was  required  to  repeat 
what  she  knew.  When  she  had  done  so  she  did 
not  wait  for  official  instructions.  She  quietly 
and  resolutely  announced  her  intention  of  go- 
ing on  to  the  cliff-head  above  Contrary  with  a 
lantern  in  hand.  When  the  light  on  the  pier 
was  rtm  down  by  the  fishing-boat,  she  would 
light  her  lantern  and  turn  it  towards  the  castle 
as  a  sign  to  the  men  in  hiding  there.  The  de- 
termination and  decision  of  this  girl  brooked 
no  question.  The  police  agreed  to  her  scheme. 
And  had  she  not  been  the  root  and  origin  of  all 
their  movements,  and  the  sole  cause  that  they 
were  there  at  all? 

But  ^lona  had  yet  another  proposal,  and  to 
herself  this  last  was  the  most  vital  of  all     The 


118     SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

four  men  who  were  to  watch  Bill  Kisseck's 
house  must  have  a  guide,  or  by  their  lumbering 
movements  they  would  awaken  suspicion,  and 
the  birds  would  be  frightened  and  not  snared. 
Christian  had  not  been,  found.  ''He's  off  to 
Ramsey,  nO'  doubt,"  suggested  Kinvig.  "I'll 
be  guide  to  you  myself,"  said  Mona.  ''I'll  take 
you  to  the  Head,  place  you  there,  and  then  go 
ofT  to  my  own  station."  And  so  it  was  agreed. 
It  is  not  usually  a  man's  shrewdness  that  can 
match  a  woman's  wit  at  an  emergency  like  this. 
And  then  the  men  in  this  case  were  police — a 
palliating  circumstance ! 

Half  an  hour  passed,  and  Mona  was  on  the 
clifif-head.  She  had  .so  placed  the  four  men  that 
they  could  not  see  her  own  position  or  know 
whether  she  duly  and  promptly  lit  her  lantern 
or  not.  The  night  was  still  very  dark.  Not  a 
star  was  shining;  no  moon  appeared.  Yet, 
standing  where  she  stood,  with  the  black  hill 
behind  her,  she  could  at  least  descry  something 
of  the  sea  in  front.  The  water,  lighter  than  the 
land,  showed  faintly  below.  Mona  could  trace 
the  line  of  white  breakers  around  the  Castle  Isle. 
If  a  boat's  sail  came  close  to  the  coast,  she  could 
see  that  also.  The  darkness  of  the  night  might 
aid  her.  There  was  light  enough  for  her  move- 
ments, but  too  little  for  the  movements  of  the 
four  strangers  behind  her. 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  ^yORLD  TO  ME.  119 

^lona  saw  the  boat  leave  the  shore  that  car- 
ried Kinvig  and  his  four  assistants  across  the 
strait  to  the  castle.  In  a  moment  she  lost  it  in 
the  black  shadow.  Then  she  heard  the  grating 
of  its  keel  on  the  shingle,  and  the  clank  of  the 
little  chain  that  moored  it. 

Now  everything  depended  on  Danny.  Had 
the  lad  wit  enough  to  comprehend  all  her  mean- 
ing? Even  if  so,  was  it  in  human  nature  to  do 
so  much  as  she  expected  him  to  do  from  no 
motive,  but  such  as  sprang  from  hopeless  love? 
God  brighten  the  lad's  dense  intellect  for  this 
night  at  least!  Heaven  ennoble  our  poor,  self- 
ish, uncertahi  human  nature  for  one  brief  hour! 

Mona  strained  her  ear  for  the  splash  of  an  oar. 
Danny  ought  to  be  stirring  now.  But  no ;  ]\Iona 
could  hear  nothing  but  the  murmur  of  the  water 
on  the  pebbles  and  their  distant  boom  in  the 
bay. 

Look!  coming  up  to  the  west  coast  of  the 
castle  were  the  sails  of  a  fishing-boat  silhouetted 
against  the  leaden  sky.  It  was  a  lugger.  ^lona 
could  see  both  mainmast  and  mizzen  with  main- 
sail and  yawl.  It  was  the  Ben-my-Chree.  Chris- 
tian was  there  and  he  was  in  deadly  peril.  She 
herself  had  endangered  his  liberty  and  life.  The 
girl  was  almost  beside  herself  with  terror. 

But  look  again!  Though  no  sound  of  oars 
could  reach  her,  she  could  now  see  the  clear  out- 


120  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

line  of  a  boat  scudding-  through  the  hghter  patch 
of  water  just  inside  the  castle's  shadow.  It  was 
Danny!  God  bless  and  keep  him  on  earth  and 
in  heaven!  How  the  lad  rowed!  Light  as  the 
dip  of  a  feather,  and  swift  as  the  eagle  flies! 
Bravely,  Danny,  bravely! 

The  clock  in  the  tower  of  the  old  church  in 
the  Market-place  was  striking.  How  the  bell 
echoed  on  this  lonely  height! — six,  seven,  eight, 
nine!  Nine  o'clock?  Then  the  merchantman 
ought  to  be  near  at  hand.  Mona  strained  her 
eyes  into  the  darkness.  She  could  see  nothing. 
Perhaps  the  ship  would  not  come.  Perhaps 
Heaven  itself  had  ordered  that  the  man  'she 
loved  should  be  guiltless  of  this  crime.  Merci- 
ful Heaven,  let  it  be  so,  let  it  be  so! 

The  fishing-boat  had  disappeared.  Yes,  her 
sails  were  gone.  But  out  at  sea,  far  out,  half 
a  league  aw^ay — what  black  thing  was  there?  Oh, 
it  must  be  a  cloud;  that  was  all.  No  doubt  a 
storm  was  brewing.  What  was  the  funny  sail- 
or's saying  that  Ruby  laughed  at  when  Danny 
repeated  it?  No,  no!  it  was  looming  larger  and 
larger,  and  it  was  nearer  than  she  had  thought. 
It  was — yes,  it  was  a  sail.  There  could  be  no 
doubt  of  it  now.  The  merchantman  was  outside, 
and  she  was  less  than  half  a  mile  away. 

Bill  Kisseck  and  the  three  men  who  were  to 
go  ashore  on  the  west  pf  the  Castle  Isle  must 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  131 

now  have  landed.  Christian  was  one  of  them. 
Within  fifty  yards  five  men  lay  in  wait  to  capture 
them.  See,  the  Ben-my-Chree  was  fetcWng 
away  to  leeward.  She  was  doubling  the  island 
rock  and  coming  into  harbor.  How  awkwardly 
the  man  at  the  tiller  was  tacking.  That  was  a 
ruse,  lest  he  was  w^atched.  To  Mona  the  sus- 
pense of  the  moment  was  terrible.  The  very 
silence  was  awful.  She  felt  an  impulse  to  scream. 

What  about  Danny?  Had  he  reached  the 
Lockjaw? 

He  must  have  rowed  like  a  man  possessed, 
to  be  there  already.  The  Ben-my-Chree  would 
sweep  into  harbor  at  the  next  tack.  Could 
Danny  get  up  onto  the  pier  in  time  to  see  the 
lamp  on  the  pier  go  down? 

Mona  could  see  the  black  outline  of  the  Lock- 
jaw headland  from  where  she  was  stationed. 
Her  heart  seemed  to  stand  still.  She  turned  her 
eyes  first  to  the  pier,  then  to  the  Lockjaw,  and 
then  to  the  cloud  of  black  sail  outside  that  grew 
larger  every  instant 

Look  again — the  fishing-boat  is  coming  in; 
Bhe  is  almost  covering  the  lamp  on  the  pier;  she 
has  swept  it  down;  it  is  gone,  and  all  is  blank, 
palpable  darkness.  Mona  covers  her  eyes  with 
her  hands. 

Is  Danny  ready?  Quick,  quick,  Danny;  one 


133  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME, 

minute  lost  and  all  is  lost.  No  light  yet  on  the 
Lockjaw. 

Bravo !  Mona's  heart  leaps  to  her  mouth.  There 
is  a  light  on  the  Lockjaw  Head!  Thaniv  God 
and  poor  dear  Danny  for  ever  and  ever! 

And  now,  the  lamp  down,  the  gorse  burn'ng, 
the  merchantman  drawing  nearer  and  nearer, 
what  must  Mona  herself  do?  She  had  prom- 
ised to  give  the  sign  to  the  men  in  the  castle  the 
instant  the  lig-ht  on  the  pier  was  run  down.  Then 
they  would  know  that  it  was  not  too  soon  tc 
pounce  down  on  Kisseck  and  his  men,  with  part 
of  their  plot — the  least  dangerous  part,  but  still 
a  punishaible  part — carried  into  effect.  But 
Mona  did  not  light  her  lantern.  She  never  meant 
to  do  it  so  soon.  She  must  first  see  some  rea- 
son to  believe  that  Christian  and  his  compan- 
ions haid  taken  Danny's  warning. 

She  waited  one  minute — two,  three.  No  sign 
yet.  Meantime  the  black  cloud  of  sail  in  the  bay 
was  drawing  closer.  There  were  living  men 
aboard  of  that  ship,  and  they  were  running  on 
to  the  rocks.  This  suspense  was  agony.  Mona 
felt  that  she  must  do  something.    But  what? 

If  she  wxre  to  liglit  her  lantern  now  she  might 
save  the  merchantman ;  but  then  Christian  would 
be  pounced  upon  and  taken.     If  she  were  not 


SHE'i^  ALL  'ItiE   WORLD  TO  ME.  i:>j 

gored  to  pieces  on  the  Castle  Isle,  and  perhaps 
all  hands  would  be  lost.  What  was  ]\Iona  to  do? 
The  tension  was  terrible. 

She  strode  up  and  down  the  hill-side — up  and 
down,  up  and  down. 

Three  minutes  gone — a  fourth  minute  going. 
Not  a  sound  from  the  west  coast  of  the  castle. 
Perhaps  Christian,  Kisseck  and  the  rest  had  not 
landed.  She  must  not  let  the  merchantman  be 
wrecked.  Her  lantern  must  he  Ht  for  the  crew*s 
sake.  Yes,  they  were  men,  living  men — men 
with  wives  who  loved  them,  and  children  who 
climbed  to  their  knees.  ^lona  thought  of  Chris- 
tian and  of  Ruby.  It  was  a  fierce  moment  of 
conflicting  passion. 

Four  minutes  at  least  had  gone.  Alona  had 
decided  to  light  her  lantern,  come  what  would 
or  could.  She  was  in  the  act  of  doing  so,  when 
she  heard  footsteps  on  the  chflf  behind  her.  The 
four  strangers  had  seen  the  light  on  the  pier  go 
do'wn.  They  thought  it  must  be  time  for  them 
to  be  moving.  Either  Kinvig  and  the  other  Tour 
in  the  castle  had  taken  their  men,  or  they  had 
missed  them.  In  either  case  their  own  time  for 
action  had  gone. 

IMona,  in  a  fever  of  excitement,  afifected  cer- 
tain knowledge  that  Kisseck's  men  must  be  cap' 
lured.     She  recommended  the  police     to     go 


124     SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

down  to  the  shore  and  wait  quietly  for  their 
friends.  But  at  that  moiment  they  caught  sight 
of  Danny's  fire  on  the  Lockjaw  Head.  They 
suspected  mischief,  and  declared  their  intention 
of  going  off  to  it. 

At  the  same  moment  Mona's  quicker  eyes, 
now  pretematurally  quick,  caught  sight  of  a 
boat  clearing  the  west  coast  of  the  Castle  Rock, 
and  sailing  fast  towards  the  Lockjaw.  It  was 
Christian's  boat.  Again  Mona  felt  an  impulse 
to  scream. 

And  now  there  came  loud  shouts  from  the 
castle.  At  the  sign  of  Mona's  lantern,  Kinvig 
and  his  followers  had  leaped  out  of  their  am- 
bush, only  to  find  their  men  gone.  Then  they 
•had  run  off  to  the  creek  in  which  they  had  left 
their  boat,  meaning  to  give  chase — only  to  find 
that  the  boat  had  disappeared.  There  had  been 
treachery  somewhere.  They  were  imprisoned 
on  the  Castle  Rock,  and  so  they  shouted,  Foud 
and  long,  to  their  comrades  on  the  cliff. 

Mona  thought  she  would  have  laugthed  yet 
louder  and  longer  had  she  dared.  But  the  po- 
lice were  still  with  her,  and  the  desire  to  laugh 
was  quickly  swallowed  up  in  fresh  fear.  She 
took  the  strangers  to  the  high  path  that  led  to 
the  Lockjaw.  "Follow  this,"  she  said,  "and  take 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  }IE.  r.n 

no  other,  as  you  value  your  limbs  and  necks." 
She  told  them  to  be  very  careful  as  they  passed 
the  open  shaft  of  the  old  lead-mine.  It  would 
lie  three  yards  on  their  right.    Away  they  went. 

What  had  happened  to  the  merchantman? 
She  had  seen  danger  and  was  already  beating 
down  the  bay.  She  and  her  crew  were 'safe.  Put- 
ting down  the  lantern  on  the  hill-side,  ^lona 
ran  with  all  speed  to  Kisseck's  cottage.  In  the 
darkness  she  almost  stumbled  down  the  little 
precipice  on  to  the  back  of  the  roof.  Running 
round  the  path,  she  pushed  her  way  into  the 
house.  Bridget  Kisseck  was  there.  In  breath- 
less haste  IMona  told  the  woman  that  the  police 
were  after  Kisseck  and  his  friends;  urged  her  to 
get  pipes,  tobacco,  cards,  ale,  spirits,  and  the  like 
on  the  table.  The  men  would  be  here  in  tliree 
minutes.  They  must  make  pretence  that  they 
had  never  been  out. 

Then  ^lona  ran  back  to  the  angle  of  the  two 
mountain  paths,  the  high  path  and  the  low  one. 

Bridget,  who  had  not  comprehended  Mona's 
instructions,  took  fright  at  her  intelligence,  put 
on  her  shawl  and  bonnet,  and,  Avithout  waiting 
for  her  husband,  hurried  awav  to  the  town. 


126  SEE'S  ALL  TEE  ^VORLD  TO  ME. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"bill  is   GOJfE   TO   BED." 

What  was  happening  to  Danny  at  the  Lock- 
jaw Creek? 

Throughout  two  hours  and  a  half  he  had 
lain  in  the  cold,  motionless  and  silent,  among 
the  rocks  outside  the  castle.  Wh^n  the  time 
came  he  had  leaped  into  the  boat  which  the 
police  brought  with  them  and  pulled  away.  He 
had  strained  every  muscle  to  reach  the  Pool- 
vash,  knowing  full  well  that  if  he  gained  it  one 
minute  late  it  might  be  indeed  the  bay  of 
death.  Before  he  had  crossed  that  point  at 
which  the  two  streams  met  midway  in  the 
strait  he  could  see  the  Ben-my-Chree  tacking 
into  the  harbor.  Then,  indeed,  he  sculled  with 
air  his  strength.  He  ran  ashore.  He  mounted 
to  the  clififhcad.  With  the  matches  in  his  hand 
he  peered  through  the  darkness  to  where  the 
lamp  still  burned  on  the  end  of  the  pier.  Yes, 
he  was  in  time.  But  what  was  that  red  riot  that 
was  now  rising  in  his  heart? 

It  was  then,  and  not  till  then,  that  the  thought 


SEE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  127 

came  to  him,  "What  am  I  here  for?''  What  for? 
Who  for?  Why?  It  was  a  moment  of  blank 
bewilderment.  Then  in  an  instant,  as  if  by  a 
flash  of  Hghtning,  evervthing  became  plain. 
Mona,  Christian,  Ruby — these  three,  Hnked  to- 
gether for  the  first  time  in  the  lad's  mind,  flashed 
the  truth,  the  fact,  the  secret  upon  him.  Danny 
had  at  length  stumbled  into  the  hidden  grave. 
He  saw  it  all  now.  What  hcvd  lain  concealed 
from  other  and  wiser  heads,  vainer  heads,  heads 
lifted  above  his  in  lofty  pride,  was  revealed  to 
his  simple  intelligence  and  great  yearning  heart. 

Yes,  Danny  knew  now  why  he  was  there. 
It  was  to  save  the  life  of  the  man  who  was  be- 
loved by  the,  woman  whom  he  loved. 

The  world  seemed  in  that  moment  to  crumble 
beneath  his  feet.  He  dropped  his  eyes  in  deep 
self-abasement,  but  raised  them  again  in  self- 
sacrifice  and  unselfish  love.  There  was  nO'  doubt 
as  to  what  he  should  do.  No,  not  even  now, 
with  the  life  of  Christian  in  the  palm  of  his 
hand.  Some  power  above  himself  controlled 
him.  "For  her  sake,"  he  whispered.  "Oh,  for 
her  sake,  for  all,"  he  murmured,  and  at  that 
moment  the  light  on  the  pier  went  down. 

He  struck  his  matches  and  lit  the  gorse.  It 
was  damp,  and  at  first  it  would  not  burn.  It 
dried  at  last,  and  burst  into  flame.     Then  th^ 


128     SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

lad  crept  down  to  the  water's  edge  and  waited. 

The  water  lay  'black  as  the  raven  outside,  but 
the  light  of  the  burning  gorse  overhead  gilded 
the  rolling  wavelets  at  his  feet. 

In  five  minutes  the  dingy  of  the  Ben-my- 
Ohree  shot  into  the  creek,  and  four  men  leaped 
ashore.  One  was  Kisseck,  another  Christian, 
and  the  other  tw^O'  were  Paul  Corteen  and  Luke 
Killip.     All  were  violently  agitated. 

*'What  for  is  all  this,  you  young  devil?''  cried 
Kisseck.  ''What  does  it  all  mean? — out  with 
it,  quick! — what  tricks  have  you  been  pla}dng? 
Damn  -his  fool's  face,  why  doesn't  he  speak?'' 

And  Kisseck  struck  the  lad,  and  he  fell.  Dan- 
ny got  up  strangely  quiet,  strangely  calm,  with 
great  wide  eyes,  and  a  face  that  nO'  man  could 
look  on  W'ithout  fear.  Kisseck  trembled  before 
it,  but — from  dread  alone  and  without  waiting 
for  a  word  of  explanation — ^^he  raised  his  hand 
once  more. 

Christian  interposed.  Danny  told  his  stor}^; 
how  the  police  were  on  the  cliff-head  as  w^ell  as 
the  island;  how  they  would  certainly  make  for 
this  spot;  how  Mona  Cregeen  would  send  them 
along  the  high  path;  and  how  they — Kisseck, 
Christian  and  the  others — were  to  take  the  low 
path,  get  back  with  all  haste  to  the  cottage,  and 


SHE'S  ALL  I  HE  WORLD  TO  ME.  129 

make  pretence  that  they  had  never  been  out. 

Christian  started  away.  He  had  dimbed  the 
precipitous  cHffhead  in  a  minute,  the  others  fol- 
lowing. \Vihen  they  reached  the  top,  Danny 
was  side  by  side  with  his  uncle,  staring  with 
wild  eyes  into  his  face.     Kisseck  stopped. 

" ,  what  for  do  you  look  at  me?"  he  cried. 

Then  again  he  lifted  his  hand  and  struck  the 
lad  and  threw  him.  When  Danny  rose  to  his 
feet  after  this  second  blow  he  laughed  aloud. 
It  was  a  laugh  to  freeze  the  blood.  Christian 
turned  back.  He  took  Kisseck  by  the  shoul- 
der. "By ,''  he  said,  between  gusts  of  breath, 

"touch  him  again  and  Til  pitch  you  into  the 
sea.'' 

Kisseck  was  silent  and  cowed.  There  was  no 
time  to  stand  quarrelling  there.  "Come  on,'' 
cried  Christian,  and  he  set  off  to  run.  He  speed- 
ily outran  the  rest,  and  they  lost  sight  of  him. 

The  two  paths  that  lead  to  the  Lockjaw  came 
together  within  a  'hundred  yards  at  the  end. 
In  the  darkness,  in  the  confusion,  in  the  tur- 
moil of  soul,  Christian  missed  the  lower  path 
and  followed  the  higher  one.  He  did  not  realize 
his  mistake.  Running  at  his  utmost  speed,  how- 
ever, he  heard  footsteps  in  front  of  him.  Tliey 
were  coming  towards  him.    They  were  the  foot- 


■130  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

steps  of  the  police.  Christian  was  uncertain  what 
to  do.  For  himself  he  cared  little.  But  he  thought 
of  his)  father,  of  Mona,  of  little  Ruby,  and  then 
life  and  fame  were  dear. 

The  cliff  was  on  the  rigiht  of  him,  as  he  sup- 
posed, the  sea  on  the  left.  He  reckoned  that  he 
must  be  near  to  Kisseck's  cottage  now.  Per- 
haps he  could  readh  it  before  the  men  came  up 
to  it.  Tliey  were  drawing  very  close.  Along  the 
higher  path  Christian  ran  at  his  utmost  speed. 

Ah!  here  is  the  cottage,  nearer  than  he  had 
expected.  He  must  have  run  faster  than  he  sup- 
posed. In  the  uncertain  light  Christian  sees  what 
he  takes  to  be  the  old  quarry.  There  is  no  time 
to  go  round  by  the  road  and  in  at  the  front. 
He  must  leap  down  the  back  of  the  shallow 
quarry,  light  on  the  thatoh,  and  lie  there  for  a 
minute  until  the  men  have  passed. 

He  runs,  he  leaps,  but — he  has  ju*mped  down 
the  open  shaft  of  the  old  disused  lead-mine. 

Meantime  Kisseck  and  Danny  Fayle,  with 
Corteen  and  Killip,  found  the  low  path  and  fol- 
lowed it.  They  lieard  the  strangers  pass  on  the 
high  path,  but  they  were  themselves  running 
softly  on  the  thin  grass,  and  a  clifif  was  between 
the  police  and  them.  When  they  got  to  the  angle 
of  the  roads  and  turned  down  the  footpath  in 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  1?A 

front  of  the  house  they  passed  Mona.  As  they 
entered,  '*Who  was  that  woman?''  said  Kisseck. 

"Mona,"  answered  Danny. 

"Damn  her,  I'll  lay  my  soul  that  craythur  is 
at  the  bottom  of  it  all." 

Danny  s  dilated  eyes  flashed  fire.  But  he  was 
otherwise  outwardly  quiet  and  calm. 

"Where's  that  other  fellow — Christian?"  said 
Kisseck.  "He  has  led  me  into  all  this  cursed 
mess." 

"That's  a  lie,"  said  Danny,  with  the  color  gone 
from  his  cheeks. 

Kisseck  walked  across  to  him  with  upHfted 
arm.  Never  flinching,  the  lad  w'aited  for  the 
blow.  Kisseck  dropped  his  hand.  Curling  his 
lip  in  bitter  mockers^,  he  said,  "What  for  is  that 
she-devil  sthrov.ding  around  here?'' 

One  bright  spot  of  blood  came  into  the  lad's 
face,  and  as  he  drew  his  breath  it  went 
through  his  teeth.     But  he  was  silent  still. 

"She  has  the  imperince  of  sin,"  said  Kisseck. 
"If  she  comes  here  she'll  suffer  for  it." 

Danny  walked  to  the  door  and  pushed  the 
bolt.  Kisseck  laughed  bitterly. 

"I  knew  it,"  he  said.  "I  knew  she  wasn't  in 
it.  But  I'll  punish  her.  Out  of  the  way,  you 
idiot  waistreL" 


133  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

There  was  a  hurried  step  on  the  road  out- 
side. 

Danny  put  his  back  to  the  door.  His  eyes 
mehed,  and  he  cried  beseechingly — 

''You'll  not  do  that,  Uncle  Bill?" 

''Out  of  the  road,  you  young-  pauper,"  cried 
Kisseck,  and  he  took  hold  of  Danny  and  thrust 
him  aside. 

"You  shall  not  do  it,"  screamed  the  lad,  run- 
ning to  the  hearth  and  snatching  up  a  pokier. 

lA.11  Danny's  unnatural  quiet  had  forsaken 
him. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  an  im- 
patient footstep  to  and  fro. 

Kisseck  walked  into  an  inner  room,  and 
came  back  with  a  pistol  in  his  hand. 

"Men,  don't  you  see  it  plain?  That  woman  is 
at  the  bottom  of  it  all,"  he  said,  turning  to  Cor- 
teen  and  Killip,  and  pointing,  as  he  spoke,  to 
the  door.  "She  brought  us  here  to  trap  us,  and 
now  she  has  come  to  see  if  we  are  at  home.  She 
has  the  men  from  Castle  Rushen  behind  her; 
but  she  shall  pay  for  it  with  her  life.  Out  of  the 
way,  I  say.  Out — of — the  way." 

Danny  was  standing  again  with  his  back  to 
the  door.  He  had  the  poker  in  his  hand.  Kisseck 
put  the  pistol  on  a  table,  and  closed  with  Danny 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  133 

to  pus'i  him  aside.  There  was  a  terrible  stru^:^- 
gle.  Amid  curs'es  from  Kisse;ck  and  shouts 
from  Corteen  and  KilHp,  the  poker  was 
wrenched  from  Danny's  grasp  and  thrown  on 
the  floor.  The  lad  himself  was  dragged  away 
from  the  door,  and  the  bolt  was  drawn. 

Then  in  an  instant  Danny  rushed  to  the  table 
and  picked  up  the  pistol.  There  was  a  flash,  a 
deafening  explosion,  a  shriek,  a  heavy  fall,  and 
Kisseck  rolled  on  the  floor  dead. 

Danny  staggered  back  to  the  door,  the  hot 
pistol  still  in  his  hand.  He  was  petrified.  His 
great  eyes  seemed  to  leap  out  of  his  head.  When 
the  smoke  cleared  he  saw  what  he  had  done. 
His  lips  moved,  but  no  words  came  from  him. 
The  other  men  were  speechless.  There  was  a 
moment  of  awful  silence.  Then,  once  more, 
there  came  a  knock  at  the  door  against  which 
Danny  leaned. 

Another  knock.  No  answer.  Another — loud- 
er.   Still  no  reply. 

"Bridget,''  cried  a  voice  from  without.  It  was 
Mona's  voice. 

"Bridget,  let  me  in.     What  has  happened?" 

No  one  stirred. 

"Bridget,  they  are  coming.  Tell  the  men  to 
go  off  to  sea." 


134  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  MW. 

None  spoke  or  moved.  The  latch  was  lifted, 
but  in  vain. 

'  'Bridget — Christian  —  Christian  !'*  —  (knock* 
ing"  contmued). 

''Kisseck— Kisseck— Bill  Kisseck— Bill !'^ 

At  last  one  of  the  men  found  his  voice! 

"Bill  is  gone  to  bed,"  he  said  hoarsely. 


SEE'S  ALL  TEE  ^\ORLD  TO  ME.  135 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A  EESUREECTIOX  INDEED. 

"The  night  is  long  that  never  finds  the  day." — 
Macbeth. 

The  shaft  of  the  old  lead-mine  down  which 
Christian  leaped  was  forty-five  feet  deep,  yet 
he  was  not  killed;  he  was  not  even  hurt.  At  the 
bottom  were  fifteen  feet  of  water,  and  this  had 
broken  his  dreadful  fall.  On  coming  to  the  sur- 
face, one  stroke  in  the  first  instant  of  dazed  con- 
sciousness had  landed  him  on  a  narrow  ledge 
of  rock  that  raked  downward  with  the  stream. 
But  what  was  his  position  when  he  realized  it? 
It  seemed  to  be  v/orse  than  death  itself;  it  was 
a  living  death;  it  was  life  in  the  arms 
of  death;  it  was  burial  in  an  open  grave. 
He  lieard  steps  overhead,  and  in  the  agony  of 
fear  he  shouted.  But  the  steps  went  by  like  a 
swiift  breath  of  wind,  and  no  one  answered. 
Then  he  reflected  that  these  must  have  been  the 
fcotsteps  of  the  police.  Thank  God  they  had 
not  heard  his  voice.  To  be  rescued  by  them  must 


136  SHE'^  ALL  THE   WORLD  TU  ME. 

■have  been  ruin  more  terrible  than  all.  Doubt- 
less they  knew  of  his  share  in  to-night's  at- 
tempted crime.  Knowing  this  they  must  know 
by  what  fatality  he  was  buried  here.  Christian 
now  realized  that  death  encircled  him  on  every 
side.  To  remain  in  this  pit  was  death;  to  be 
lifted  out  of  it  was  death  no  less  surely.  To'  es- 
cape was  hopeless.  He  looked  up  at  the  sky. 
It  was  a  small  square  patch  of  leaden  gray 
against  the  impenetrable  blackness  of  his  prison 
walls. 

Standing  on  the  ledge  of  rock,  and  steadying 
himself  with  one  hand,  he  lifted  the  other 
stealthily  upwards  to  feel  the  sides  of  the  shaft. 
They  were  of  rock  and  were  precipitous,  but 
had  rugged  projecting  pieces  on  which  it  was 
possible  to  lay  hold.  As  he  grasped  one  of 
these,  a  sickening  pang  of  hope  shot  through 
him  and  wounded  him  worse  than  despair.  But 
it  was  swift;  it  was  gone  in  an  instant.  The 
piece  of  rock  gave  way  in  his  hand,  and  tumbled 
into  the  water  below  him  with  a  hollow  splash ! 
The  sides  of  the  .shaft  were  of  a  crumbling 
stone. 

Now,  indeed,  he  knew  how  hopeless  was  his 
pHght  He  dare  not  cry  for  help.  He  must 
stand  still  as  death  in  this  deep  tomb.  To  at- 
tract attention  would  of  itself  be  death.  To  re- 


SHE'S  ALL  TEE  WORLD  TO  ME.  137 

main  down  the  shaft  would  also  be  certain 
death.  To  climb  to  the  surface  was  impossible. 
Christian's  heart  sank.  His  position  was  terri- 
ble. 

This  conflict  of  soul  did  not  last  long.  The 
heart  soon  clung  to  the  nearest  hope.  Cry  for 
help  lie  must;  be  dragged  out  of  this  grave  he 
should,  let  the  issue  be  what  it  could  or  would. 
To  lie  here  and  die  was  not  human.  To  live 
in  the  living  present  was  the  first  duty,  the  first 
necessity,  be  the  price  of  life  no  less  than  future 
death. 

Christian  reflected  that  the  police,  when  he 
heard  their  footsteps,  had  been  running  to  Lock- 
jaw Creek.  It  w^ould  take  them  five  minutes  to 
reach  it.  When  they  got  there  and  saw  the  boats 
on  the  shingle  they  would  know  that  their  men 
had  escaped  them.  Then  they  would  hasten 
back.  In  ten  minutes  they  would  pass  the 
mouth  of  the  shaft  again.  Five  of  these  ten 
minutes  must  have  gone  already.  If  he  were  to 
be  rescued  he  must  know  nearabouts  when  they 
ought  to  return,  so  that  he  might  shout  when 
they  were  within  hail.  He  remembered  that  their 
footsteps  had  gone  from  him  like  the  wind.  The 
long  shaft  and  sixty  feet  of  dull  dead  rock  and 
earth  had  carried  them  off  in  an  instant. 

Christian  began  to  reckon     moments.     His 


i:8  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

thougihts  came  too  fast.  He  knew  tliey  must 
deceiye  him  as  to  time.  Minutes  in  this  perilous 
position  mig^hit  count  with  him.  for  hours.  He 
took  out  his  watch,  meaning  to  listen  for  the 
beat  of  its  seconds.  The  watdh  had  stopped.  No 
doubt  it  was  full  of  water.  Christian's  heart  beat 
loud  enough.  Then  he  began  to  count — one, 
two,  three.  But  his  mind  was  in  a  whirl.  He 
lost  his  reckoning.  He  found  that  he  had 
stoppj^d  counting  land  forgotten  the  number. 
Whether  five  minutes  or  fifty  had  passed  he 
could  not  be  sure. 

Hark!  He  heard  something  over  head.  Were 
they  footsteps,  those  thuds  that  fell  on  the  ear 
like  the  first  rumble  of  a  distant  thunder-cloud? 
Yes,  some  one  was  near  him.  Noav  was  his 
time  to  call,  but  his  tongue  was  cleaving  to  his 
mouth.  Then  he  beard  words  spoken  at  the 
mouth  of  the  shaft.  They  rumbled  down  to  him 
like  words  shouted  through  a  hollow  black  pil- 
lar. 

''Here  men,"  said  one,  "let's  tumble  him  into 
the  lead-mine.  No  harm  will  it  do  him  now,  poor 
craythur." 

But  another  voice,  laden  with  the  note  of 
fearful  agony,  cried,. ''No,  no,  no!" 

"We  must  do  something.     No  time  to  lose 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  139 

now.  The  fac's  is  agen  us.  Let's  make  a  slant 
for  it,  anyway.    Lift  again — up!'' 

Christian  shuddred  at  the  sound  of  human 
voices.  Buried,  as  he  was,  sixty  feet  beneath 
the  earth,  they  came  to  him  hke  the  voice  that 
the  wind  might  make  on  a  tempestuous  night 
if,  as  it  reached  your  ear,  it  whispered  words 
and  fled  away. 

The  men  were  gone.  Christian's  blood  was 
chilled.  What  had  happened?  Was  some  one 
dead?  Who  was  it?  Christian  shuddered  at  the 
thought  of  what  might  have  occurred  if  the 
dead  body  had  been  tossed  over  him  into  the 
pit.  Had  the  police  overstepped  their  duty? 
Were  they  the  police?  Did  he  not  remember 
one  of  the  voices — or  both?  Christian's  entem- 
pest  soul  was  overwhelmed  with  agony.  He 
could  not  be  sure  that  in  very  truth  he  was  con- 
scious of  anything  that  occurred. 

Time  passed — he  knew  not  how  long  or  short 
— and  again  he  heard  voices  overhead.  They 
were  not  the  voices  he  had  heard  before. 

"They  have  escaped  us,"  said  one.  "Their 
boats  are  gone  from  the  creek  now.'' 

These,  then,  were  the  police ;  and,  Avith  a  fresh 
flood  of  agony.  Christian  realized  that  the  other 
men  had  been  his  friends.     What  fatalitv  had 


140  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

prevented  him  from  crying  aloud  to  the  only 
persons  on  earth  who  could,  in  very  truth,  have 
rescued  and  saved  him? 

The  voices  above  him  were  dying  away. 
''Stop,"  cried  Christian.  Despair  made  him 
brave;  fear  made  him  fearless.  But  none  an- 
swered. Then  he  was  conscious  that  a  footstep 
approached  the  top  of  the  shaft.  Had  he  been 
heard?    Now  he  prayed  to  God  that  he  had  not. 

"What  a  gulf,"  said  one.  ''Lucky  we  didn't 
tumble  down.  The  young  woman  warned  us, 
you  remember." 

There  was  a  short  laugh  at  the  mouth  of 
Christian's  open  grave.  He  did  not  call  again. 
The  voices  ceased,  the  footsteps  died  ol¥. 

He  was  alone  once  more;  but  death  was  with 
him.  The  poHce  had  gone.  Kisseck  and  his 
men  had  gone.  They  Avere  no  doubt  out  at  sea 
by  this  time  if,  as  the  police  said,  the  boats  had 
been  taken  from  the  creek.  Christian  remem- 
bered now  that  the  voices  he  had  heard  first 
w^ere  those  of  Corteen  and  Danny  Fayle.  This 
recovered  consciousness  enabled  him  to  recall 
the  fearful  memory  of  w^hat  had  been  said.  Cold 
as  he  was,  the  sweat  stood  in  big  drops  on  Chris- 
tian's forehead.  One  of  their  own  men  was 
dead;  one  of  the  companions  in  this     night's 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  141 

black  adventure.  A  bad  man  perhaps,  or  per- 
haps merely  a  weak  victim,  but  his  own  as- 
sociate, whatever  else  he  had  been. 

Now  if  he  were  to  escape  from  his  death  In 
life  it  must  be  by  his  own  unaided  energies 
alone.  It  was  best  so;  best  that  he  should  climb 
to  the  top  without  help,  or  be  lost  without  de- 
tection. After  all,  it  was  a  superior  Power  that 
had  governed  this  dread  eventuality  and  si- 
lenced his  impotent  tongue. 

An  hour  passed.  The  wind  began  to  rise. 
At  first  Christian  felt  nothing  of  it  as  he  stood 
in  his  deep  tomb.  He  could  hear  its  thin  hiss 
over  the  mouth  of  the  shaft,  and  that  was  all. 
But  presently  the  hiss  deepened  to  a  sough. 
Christian  had  often  heard  of  the  wind's  sob.  It 
was  a  reality,  and  no  metaphor,  as  he  listened 
to  the  wind  novv.  The  wind  began  tO'  descend. 
With  a  great  swoop  it  came  down  the  shaft, 
licked  the  walls,  gathered  voice  from  the  echo- 
ing water  at  the  bottom,  struggled  for  escape, 
roared  like  a  caged  beast,  and  was  once  more 
sucked  up  to  the  surface  with  a  noise  like  the 
breaking  of  a  huge  wave  over  a  reef.  The  tu- 
mult of  the  wind  in  the  shaft  was  hard  to  bear, 
but  when  it  was  gone  it  was  the  silence  that 
seemed  to  be  deafening:. 


113  SHE'S  ALL  TEE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

Sometimes  the  gusits  were  laden  with  the 
smoke  of  burning  gorse.  It  came  from  the  fire 
that  Danny  had  kindled  on  the  head  of  the  Pool- 
vash.  Would  the  fire  reach  the  pit,  encircle  it, 
descend  in  it? 

Then  the  rain  began  to  fall.  Christian  knew 
this  by  the  quick  monotonous  patter  overhead. 
But  no  rain  touched  him.  It  was  being  driven 
aslant  by  the  wdnd,  and  fell  only  against  the  up- 
permost part  of  the  w^alls  of  the  shaft.  Some- 
times a  soft  thin  shower  fell  over  him.  It  was 
like  the  spray  from  a  cataract  except  that  the 
volume  of  water  from  which  it  came  was  above 
and  not  beneath  him. 

Christian  had  begun  to  contemplate  measures 
for  escape.  That  unexpected  softness  of  the 
rock  which  had  at  first  appalled  him  began  now 
to  give  him  some  painful  glimmerings  of  hope. 
If  the  sides  of  the  shaft  had  been  uniformly  of 
the  gray  slate  rock  of  the  district,  the  ledge  he 
had  laid  hold  of  would  not  have  crumbled  in 
his  hand.  Being  soft,  there  must  be  a  vein  of 
sandstone  running  across  the  shaft.  Christian's 
bewildered  memory  recalled  what  he  must  have 
heard  many  times  of  the  rift  of  redstone  which 
lay  under  the  headland  south  of  Peel.  If  this 
vein  were  but  deep  enough,  his  safety  was  as- 


SHE'^  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  145 

sured.  He  could  cut  niches  into  it  with  a  knife, 
and  so,  perhaps,  after  infinite  pain  and  labor, 
reach  the  surface.  Steadying  himself  with  one 
hand.  Christian  felt  in  his  pockets  for  his  kniTe. 
It  was  not  there!  Now  death  indeed  was  cer- 
tain.    Despair  began  to  take  hold  of  him. 

He  was  icy  cold  and  feverishly  hot  at  in- 
tervals. His  clothes  were  wet;  the  water  still 
dripped  from  them,  and  fell  at  intervals  into  the 
hidden  tarn  beneath  in  hollow  drops. 

But  not  so  soon  is  hope  conquered,  when  it 
is  hope  of  life.  Not  to  hope  now  would  have 
been  not  to  fear.  Christian  remembered  that  he 
had  a  pair  of  small  scissors  attached  to  a  button- 
hook. \Mien  searching  for  his  knife  he  had  felt 
it  in  his  pocket,  and  spurned  it  for  resembling 
the  knife  to  the  touch  of  his  nervous  fingers. 
Now  it  was  his  sole  instrument.  He  found  it 
again,  opened  it,  and  with  this  paltry  help  he  set 
himself  to  his  work  of  escape  from  this  dark, 
deep  tunnel  that  stood  upright. 

The  night  was  wearing  on;  hour  after  Hour 
passed.  The  wind  dropped;  the  rain  ceased  to 
patter  overhead.  Christian  toiled  on  step  over 
step;  resting  sometimes  on  the  largest  and  firm- 
est of  the  projecting  ledges,  he  looked  up  at  the 
sky.     Its  leaden  gray  had  changed  to  a  dark 


144      SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME, 

blue  studded  with  stars.  The  moon  arose  and 
shone  a  little  way  down  his  prison,  lighting  all 
the  rest.  He  knew  it  mvist  be  early  morning. 
One  star,  a  large,  full  globe  of  light,  twinkled 
directly  above  him.  His  eye  was  fascinated  by 
that  star.  He  sat  long  and  watched  it.  He 
turned  again  and  again  in  his  toilsome  journey 
to  look  at  it.  Was  it  a  symbol  of  hope?  Pshaw! 
Christian  twisted  back  to  his  work.  When  he 
looked  for  the  star  again  it  was  gone.  It  had 
moved  beyond  his  ken;  it  had  passed  out  oi 
range  of  his  narrow  spot  of  heaven.  Somehow 
it  had  been  a  mute  companio'n.  Christian's  heart 
sank  yet  lower  in  his  cheerless  solitude. 

Still  he  toiled  on.  His  strength  was  far  spent. 
Tlie  moon  died  off,  and  the  stars  went  out  one 
after  one.  Then  a  deep,  impenetrable  cloud  of 
darkness  overspread  the  little  sky  above.  Chris- 
tian knew  it  m^ust  be  the  darkness  that  precedes 
the  dawn.  He  had  reached  a  ledge  of  rock  wid- 
er than  any  that  were  beneath  it.  Clearly  enough 
a  wooden  rafter  had  lain  along  it. 

Christian  rested  and  looked  up.  At  that  mo- 
ment he  heard  the  light  patter  of  four  little  feet 
overhead,  and  a  poor  stray  sheep,  a  lamb  of  last 
spring's  flock,  bleated  down  the  shaft.  The  mel- 
ancholy call  of  the  lost  creature  in  that  dismal 
placed  touched  Christian  deeply.     What  was  it 


SUE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  145 

that  made  the  tears  start  to  his  eyes  and  liis 
whole  soul  shake  with  a  new  agony?  The  out- 
cast lamb  wandering  over  this  trackless  wastj 
in  the  night  had  touched  an  old  scar  in  Chris- 
tian's heart,  and  made  the  wound  bleed  afresh. 
Was  it  strange  that  in  that  hour  his  thoughts 
turned  involuntarily  to  little  Ruby  Cregeen? 
The  darling  child,  caressed  by  the  salt  breath 
of  the  sea,  and  with  the  sunlight  dancing  in  her 
eyes  and  glistening  on  her  ruby  lips,  had  she 
then  anything  in  common  with  the  little  wan- 
derer that  sent  up  her  pitiful  cry  into  the  night? 
Too  much,  too  much,  for  the  man  who  heard 
it,  and  he  was  buried  in  a  living  grave,  with 
the  tombstones  of  dead  joys  rising  everv where 
around,  with  the  fire  that  had  for  years  been 
kept  close  burning  now  most  of  all.  Oh,  these 
dead  joys,  they  want  the  deepest  grave. 

Christian  turned  again  to  his  weary  task.  To 
live  was  a  duty,  and  live  he  must.  His  fingers 
were  chilled  to  the  bone.  His  clothes  still  hung 
like  damp  cerements  to^  his  body.  The  meagre 
blades  of  the  scissors  were  worn  short.  They 
could  not  last  long.  Christian  rose  to  his  feet 
on  the  ledge  of  rock,  and  plunged  the  scissors 
into  the  blank  wall  above  'him.  Ah!  what  fresh 
disaster  was  this?  His  hand  went  deep  into  soft 
earth;  the  vein  of  rock  had  finished,  and  all  that 


140      SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

was  above  it  must  be  loose,  uncertain  mouldt 
He  gasped  at  the  discovery.  A  minute  since 
life  had  looked  very  dear.  Must  he  abandon  his 
hope  of  it  after  all?  He  paused  and  reflected. 
As  nearly  as  he  could  remember  he  had  made 
twenty  niohes  in  the  rock.  Hence  he  must  be 
fully  thirty-five  fciet  from  the  water,  and  ten 
from  the  surface.  Only  ten  feet  and  then  free- 
dom! Yet  these  ten  seemed  to  represent  an 
impossibility.  To  ascend  by  holes  dug  deep  in 
the  soft  earth  was  a  perilous  enterprise.  A  great 
clod  of  soil  might  at  any  moment  give  way 
above  or  beneath  him,  and  then  he  would  be 
plunged  once  more  into  the  pit.  If  he  fell  from 
the  side  of  the  sihaft,  he  would  be  more  likely 
than  at  first  to  strike  one  of  the  projecting 
ledges,  and  be  killed  before  he  reached  ths 
water.  There  was  nothing  left  but  to  wait  for 
the  dawn.  Perhaps  the  daylight  would  reveal 
some  less  hazardous  method  of  escape. 

Slowly  the  dull,  dead,  impenetrable  blackness 
above  him  was  lifted  of¥.  It  was  as  though  a 
spirit  breathed  on  the  night  and  it  fled  away. 
When  the  woolly  hue  of  morning  dappled  his 
larger  sky,  Christian  could  hear  the  slow  beat 
of  the  waves  on  the  shore.  The  coast  rose  up 
before  his  vision  then-,  silent,  solemn,  alone  with 


S:HE\^  all  JUL   MURLD  TO  HE.  H7 

the  dawn.  The  light  crept  into  his  prison-house. 
He  looked  down  at  the  deep  black  tarn 

And  now  hope  rose  in  his  heart  again.  Over- 
head he  saw  the  timbers  running  around  and 
across  the  shaft.  These  had  been  used  to  bank 
up  the  earth  and  to  make  two  grooves  in  which 
the  ascending  and  descending  cages  had  once 
worked.  Christian  lifted  up  his  soul  in  thank- 
fulness. The  world  was  once  more  full  of  grace, 
even  for  him.  He  could  climb  from  stay  to 
stay,  and  so  reach  the  surface. 

Catching  one  of  the  stays  in  his  uplifted 
hands,  he  swung  his  knees  on  to  another.  One 
stage  Avas  accomplished,  but  how  stiff  were  his 
joints  and  how  sinewless  his  fingers!  Another 
and  another  stage  was  reached,  and  then  four 
feet  and  no  more  were  between  him  and  the 
gorse  that  waved  in  the  light  of  the  risen  sua 
across  the  mouth  of  his  night-long  tomb. 

But  the  rain  of  years  had  eaten  into  these  tim- 
bers. In  some  places  they  crumbled  and 
were  rotten.  God!  how  the  one  on  which  he 
rested  creaked  under  him  at  that  instant.  An- 
other minute,  and  then  the  toilsome  journey 
would  be  over.  Another  minute,  and  his  dead 
self  would  be  left  behind,  buried  forever  in  this 


148  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

grave!  Then  there  would  be  a  resurrection 
in  very  truth !    Yes,  truly,  God  helping  him. 

Christian  had  swimming  eyes  and  a  big  heart 
as  he  raised  himself  on  to  the  topmost  stay  that 
crossed  the  shaft,  and  clutched  the  long  tussacs 
of  the  clinging  gorse.  Then,  at  the  last  spring, 
he  heard  a  creak — another — louder — the  timbers 
were  breaking  beneath  his  feet.  At  the  same 
moment  he  heard  a  half-stifled  cr}- — saw  a  face 
—it  was  Mona's  face — there  was  a  breathless  in- 
stant of  bewildered  consciousness. 

In  another  moment  Christian  was  standing 
on  the  hill-side,  close  locked  in  Fiona's  arms. 


8HE'^'  ALL  THE  ^VORLD  TO  ME.  149 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
god's  tvritixg  on  the  sea. 

When  the  knocking  ceased  at  Kisseck's,  and 
Mona's  footsteps  were  heard  to  turn  away,  Cor- 
teen  and  KilHp  knelt  on  the  floor  and  felt  the 
body  of  the  master,  and  knew  that  he  was  dead. 

''Let's  get  off  anyway,''  said  one;  'let's  away 
to  sea,  as  the  gel  said.    The  fac's  is  agen  us  all.'' 

"]Maybe  the  man  was  right,''  said  the  other. 
*Tt's  like  enough  she's  got  the  Castle  Rushen 
fellows  behind  her,  and  they'll  be  on  us  quick. 
Come,  bear  a  hand." 

Their  voices  sounded  hollow.  They  lifted 
Kisseck  on  to  their  shoulders.  A  thin  red  stream 
was  flowing  from  his  breast.  Corteen  picked  up 
a  cap  from  the  floor  and  stanched  the  blood. 
It  was  Danny's  cap,  and  as  they  passed  out  it 
fell  again  in  the  porch. 

Danny  himself  stepped  away  from  the  door 
to  let  them  pass.  He  had  watched  their  move- 
ments with  big  wide  eyes.  They  went  by  him 
without  a  word.  When  they  were  gone,  he  fol- 


l.-O  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

lowed  them  mechanically,  scarcely  knowing 
what  he  did.  With  bare  head,  and  the  pistol  still 
hanging  in  his  rigid  hand,  he  stepped  out  into 
the  night. 

It  was  very  dark  now.  They  could  see  noth- 
ing save  the  glow  of  the  fire  burning  furiously 
over  the  Poolvash.  And  only  the  sharp  crackle 
of  the  kindling  gorse  and  the  deep  moan  of  the 
distant  sea  could  they  hear.  They  took  the  low 
path  back  to  the  Lockjaw,  where  they  had  left 
the  boats.  The  body  was  heavy,  their  steps 
were  uncertain  in  the  darkness,  and  their  cap- 
ture seemed  imminent.  As  they  passed  the 
mouth  of  the  old  pit,  Corteen  proposed  to  throw 
the  body  into  it.  Killip  assented;  but  Danny, 
who  had  not  uttered  word  or  sound  until  now, 
cried,  ''No,  no,  no."    Then  they  hurried  along. 

When  they  reached  the  Lockjaw  they  de- 
scended to  the  bay,  got  into  one  of  the  boats 
and  pushed  ofif.  The  other  boat — the  police 
boat  that  Danny  had  brought  from  the  castle — 
they  pulled  into  mid-stream,  and  there  sent  it 
adrift  It  ran  ashore  at  the  next  flood-tide,  two 
miles  farther  up  the  shore.  When  they  got 
clear  outside  of  the  two  streams  that  flow 
round  the  Head,  they  were  amazed  to  find  the 
Ben-my-Chree  bearing  down  on  them  in  the 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  ^^OIiLD  TO  Ml.  ir.i 

uncertain  light.  \Miat  had  happened  was  this: 
On  running  down  the  lamp  that  was  put  up 
on  the  ruined  end  of  the  pier,  the  two  men  who 
had  charge  of  the  fishing-boat  had  lain-to  and 
stayed  aboard  for  some  minutes.  Davy  Cain 
and  Tommy  Tear,  having  effected  their  purpose 
ashore,  had  stolen  away  from  their  simpler  com- 
panions, and  were  standing  on  the  quay.  The 
t\vo  couples  of  men  Avere  exchanging  words  in 
eager  whispers  when  they  heard  shouts  from 
the  castle.  ^'What's  that?  Kisseck's  voice?"  "No.'' 
"Something  has  gone  wrong.  Let  us  sail  and 
away."  So  they  stood  out  again  to  sea,  passing 
close  by  the  Castle  Rock.  They  now  realized 
that  the  voice  they  <had  remembered  was  the 
voice  of  Kinvig.  That  was  enough  to  tell  them 
that  mischief  had  been  brewing.  They  rounded 
the  island  and  saw^  the  fire  over  the  head  of  the 
Lockjaw.  They  filled  away  and  kept  the  boat 
off  to  her  course.  Soon  they  saw  the  dingy 
athwart  their  hawse,  and  pulled  to.  Corteen  and 
Killip  lifted  the  body  of  Kisseck  into  the  fishing- 
boat,  and  Danny  Fayle,  all  but  as  silent  and 
rigid,  w^as  pulled  up  after  it.  As  the  lad  w^as 
dragged  'over  the  gunwale  the  pistol  dropped 
from  his  hand  and  fell  with  a  splash  into  the 
sea.    A  word  of  explanation  ensued,  and  once 


152      SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

more  they  were  standing  out  to  sea,  with  their 
dread  freight  of  horror  and  crime. 

The  wind  was  fresh  outside.  It  was  on  their 
starboard  quarter  as  they  now  made  for  the 
north.  They  saw  the  fire  burning  to  leeward. 
It  sent  a  long,  red,  sinuous  track  of  light  across 
the  black  water  that  flowed  between  them  and 
the  land.  Danny  stood  forward,  never  speaking 
never  spoken  to,  gazing  fixedly  at  that  sinuous 
track.  To  his  affrighted  senses  it  was  as  tlTe 
serpent  of  guilt  that  kept  trailing  behind  him. 

When  they  were  well  away,  and  the  men  had 
time  to  comprehend  in  its  awful  fullness  what 
had  occurred,  they  stood  together  aft  and  whis- 
pered. They  had  placed  the  body  of  the  mas- 
ter by  the  hatchways,  and  again  and  again  they 
turned  their  iheads  towards  it  in  the  darkness. 
It  was  as  thought  the  body  might  even  yet  stand 
up  in  their  midst,  and  any  man  at  any  moment 
might  find  it  face  to  face  with  him,  eye  to  eye. 
The  certainty  that  it  was  dead  had  not  taken 
hold  of  all  of  them.  It  still  bled,  and  one  of 
the  crew,  Ouilleash,  an  old  man  reputed  to  pos- 
sess a  charm  to  stop  blood,  knelt  down  beside 
Kisseck  and  whispered  in  his  ear. 

"A  few  words  can  do  no  harm  anyway,"  said 
Tear,  and  even  Davy  Cain  w^as  too  much  aghast 
to  jeer  at  the  superstition. 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  153 

''Sanguis  mane  in  te,  Sicut  Christus  se/'  whis- 
pered the  old  man,  in  his  native  tongue  into  the 
de'af  ear,  and  then  followed  a  wild  command  to 
the  blood  to  cease  flowing  in  the  name  of  the 
three  godly  men  who  came  to  Rome — Christ, 
Peter  and  Paul. 

The  blood  stopped  indeed.  But  ''Chamarroo 
as  clagh,*'  said  the  old  man,  looking  up;  as  dead 
as  a  stone. 

Danny  stood  and  looked  on  in  silence.  His 
spirit  seemed  to  be  gone,  as  though  it  could 
awake  to  life  again  only  in  another  world. 

When  death  was  certain  the  men  began  to 
mourn  over  Kisseck,  and  recount  their  mem- 
ories concerning  him. 

"Well,  Bill's  cruise  is  up,  poor  fellow;  and  a 
real  good  skipper  anyway." 

'Toor  Bill!  What's  that  it's  sayin'— 'He  who 
makes  a  ditch  for  another  may  fall  into  it  him- 
self.' " 

None  spoke  to  Danny.  A  kind  of  awe  fell  on 
them  in  their  dealings  with  the  lad.  They  let 
him  alone.  It  was  as  if  he  had  been  the  instru- 
ment in  greater  hands. 

"He  hadn't  a  lazy  bone  in  him,  hadn't  Bill. 
Aw,  well,  God  will  be  aisy  on  the  poor  chap." 

*'You  have  to  summer  and  winter  a  man  be- 


l.H  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

fore  you  know  him.  And  leave  me  to  know 
Kisseck.  I've  shared  work,  shared  meat  with 
him  this  many  a  year." 

''And  a  fine  big  ahap,  and  as  straight  as  the 
backbone  of  a  herring.     Aw,  well,  well,  well." 

"Still,  for  sure,  Bill  made  a  man  toe  the  mark. 
I'm  thinking,  poor  chap,  he's  got  summat  to 
answer  for  anyway.  Well,  well,  every  man  must 
go  to  the  mill  with  his  own  sack." 

Then  they  compared  memories  of  how  the 
dead  man  had  foreseen  his  end.  One  remem- 
bered that  Kisseck  had  said  he  knew  he  should 
net  die  in  his  bed.  Another  recalled  the  fact 
that  on  Good  Friday  mornig  Kisseck  struck 
the  griddle  that  hung  in  the  ingle  and  tumbled 
it  into  the  fire.  This  tangible  warning  of  ap- 
proaching death  the  witness  had  seen  with  his 
own  eyes.  A  third  man  remembered  that  Kis- 
seck had  met  a  cat  when  going  home  on  Oie 
houiney  (Hallow-eve).  And  if  these  prognosti- 
cations had  counted  for  little,  there  was  the  re- 
maining and  awful  fact  that  on  New-year's-eve 
Bridget  Kisseck  had  raked  the  fire  en  going  to 
bed,  and  spread  the  ashes  on  the  floor  with  the 
tongs,  and  next  morning  had  found  that  print 
of  a  foot  pointing  towards  the  door  winch  '\as 


SUE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  155 

the  certain  forewarning  of  death  in  the  house- 
hold within  the  year. 

They  were  doubhng  the  point  of  Ayre,  with 
no  clear  purpose  before  them,  and  with  some 
misgivings  as  to  whether  they  had  done  wisely 
in  setting  oiit  to  sea  at  all,  when  the  wind  fell  to 
a  dead  calm.  Then  through  the  silence  and 
darkness  they  heard  large  drops  of  rain  fail  on 
the  deck.  Presently  there  came  a  torrent  which 
lasted  nearly  an  hour.  The  men  turned  in ;  only 
Danny  and  the  body  remained  en  deck.  Still 
the  lad  could  see  the  glow  of  the  fire  on  the  cfiH, 
which  was  now  miles  away.  When  the  rain 
cea'sed,  the  darkness,  which  had  been  all  but  pal- 
pable lifted  away,  and  the  stars  came  out.  To- 
wards three  in  the  morning, the  moon  rose,  but 
it  was  soon  concealed  by  a  dense  black  turret 
cloud  that  reared  itself  upward  from  the  hori- 
zon. All  this  time  the  fishing-boat  lay  motion- 
less, with  only  the  lap  of  the  waters  heard  about 
'her. 

The  stars  died  off,  the  darkness  came  again, 
and  then,  far  on  in  the  night,  the  first  gray 
'Streaks  stretching  along  the  east  foretold  the 
dawn.  Over  the  confines  of  another  nig'ht  ^nt 
soft  daylight  was  brealving,  but  more  utterly 
lonely,  more  void,  more  full  of  dread  and  fore- 


156  SHE'S  ALL  TEE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

boding,  was  the  great,  waste  of  waters  now  that 
the  striding  Hght  was  chasing  the  curling  mists 
than  when  the  night  was  dead  and  darkness 
covered  the  sea.  On  one  side  of  them  no  other 
object  on  the  waters  was  visible  until  sky  and 
ocean  met  in  that  great  half-circle  far  away.  On 
the  other  side  was  the  land  which  they  called 
•home — from  which  they  had  fled,  to  which  they 
-dare  not  return. 

Still  not  a  breath  of  wind.  The  boat  was  drift- 
ing south.  The  men  came  up  from  below.  The 
cold  white  face  on  the  deck  looked  up  at  them, 
and  at  heaven.  "We  must  put  it  away,"  said  one, 
in  a  low  murmur.  *'Aye,"  said  another.  Not 
a  second  word  was  spoken.  A  man  went  below 
and  brought  up  an  old  sail.  Two  heavy  iron 
weights,  used  for  holding  down  the  nets,  were 
fetched  up  from  the  hold.  There  was  no  singing 
out.  They  took  up  what  lay  there  cold  and  stiff, 
and  wrapped  it  in  the  canvas,  putting  one  of  the 
weights  at  the  head  and  another  at  the  feet. 
Silently  one  man  sat  down  with  a  sail-maker's 
needle  and  string,  and  began  to  stitch  it  up. 

''Will  the  string  hold?"  asked  another;  ''is  it 
strong  enough?" 

"It  will  last  him  this  voyage  out — it's  a  short 
one,  poor  fellow." 


SnE\S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  :r.7 

Awe  and  silence  sat  on  the  crew. 

Danny,  his  eyes  suffused  with  an  unearthly 
light,  watched  their  movements  from  the  bow. 
When  he  was  lifted  aboard  last  nig-ht  a  6ull, 
dense  aching  at  his  heart  was  all  the  conscious- 
ness he  had,  and  then  the  wcdd  was  dead  to 
him.  Later  on  a  fluttering  within  him  preceded 
the  return  of  an  agonizing  sense.  Had  he  not 
sent  his  uncle  to  perdition?  That  he  had  taken 
a  warm  human  hfe;  that  Kisseck,  who  had  been 
alive,  lay  dead  a  few  feet  away  from  him — this 
was  as  nothing  to  the  horrible  thought  that  his 
imcle,  a  hard  man,  a  brutal  man,  a  sinful  man, 
had  been  sent  by  his  hand,  hot  and  unprepared, 
to  an  everlasting  hell.  "Oh,  can  this  have  liap- 
poned?''  his  bewildued  mind  asked  itself  a 
thousand  times,  as  it  awoke  as  often  from  the 
half-dream  of  stunned  and  paralyzed  con- 
sciousness. Yet,  it  was  true  that  such  a  thing 
had  occurred.  No,  it  was  not  a  nightmare.  He 
would  never,  never  awake  in  the  morning  sun- 
light and  smile  to  knov/  that  it  was  not  true. 
Xo,  no — true,  true;  true  it  was  even  until  the 
day  of  judgment,  and  he  and  Kisseck  stood  once 
more  face  to  face. 

Danny  watched  the  old  man  when  he  whis- 
pered into  the  dead  ear  the  words  of  the  mvstic 


158      SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

charm.  He  turned  his  eyes  to  the  sinuous  trail 
of  light  behind  him.  All  night  long  he  lay  on 
deck  with  only  the  dead  for  company.  He  saw 
the  other  men,  hut  did  not  speak  to  them.  It 
was  as  though  he  himself  were  already  a  being 
of  another  world,  and  could  hold  no  comimerce 
with  his  kind. 

He  thought  of  Mona,  and  then  his  heart  was 
near  to  breaking.  With  a  dumb  longing  his 
eyes  turned  through  the  darkness  towards  the 
land.  The  boat  that  was  sailing  before  the  wind 
was  carrying  him  away  from  her  forever.  To 
his  spirituahzed  sense  the  water  that  divided 
them  was  as  the  river  that  would  flow  for  all 
eternity  between  the  blessed  and  the  damned. 

The  last  ray  of  hope  was  flying  away.  It  had 
once  visited  him,  like  a  gleam  of  sunlight,  that 
though  he  might  never  clasp  her  hand  on  eiaith 
in  heaven  she  would  yet  be  his,  to  love  forever 
and  ever.  But  now  between  them  the  great  gulf 
was  fixed. 

When  the  grey  dawn  came  in  the  east,  Danny 
still  lay  in  the  bow,  haggard  and  pale.  The  un- 
earthly light  that  now  fired  his  eyes  was  the  first 
w^ord  of  a  fearful  tale.  A  witch's  Sabbath,  a  dev- 
il's revelr>'  had  begun  in  his  distracted  brain. 
In  a  state  of  wild  hallucination  he  saw  his  own 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  159 

Spectre.  It  had  gone  into  the  body  of  Kisseck, 
and  it  was  no  longer  his  uncle,  but  himself  who 
lay  there  dead.  He  was  cold ;  his  face  was  white, 
and  it  stared  straight  up  at  the  sky.  He  watched 
with  quick  eyes  the  movements  of  the  crew.  He 
saw  them  bring  up  the  canvas  and  the  weights. 
He  knew  what  they  were  going  to  do ;  they  were 
going  to  bury  him  in  the  sea. 

Silently  the  men  brought  from  below  the 
bank-board  used  in  shooting  the  nets.  They 
lifted  the  body  on  to  it,  and  then  with  the  scud- 
ding pole  they  raised  one  end  of  the  board  on 
to  the  gunwale. 

The  boat  had  drifted  many  miles.  She  was 
now  almost  due  west  off  Peel.  The  heavy  clouds 
of  night  still  rolled  before  the  dawn.  A  gentle 
breeze  was  rising  in  the  southwest. 

All  hands  stood  round  and  lifted  their  caps. 
Then  the  old  man  Ouilleash  went  down  on  one 
knee,  and  laid  his  right  hand  on  the  body.  Two 
other  men  raised  the  other  end  of  the  board. 

''Dy  bishee  jeeah  shin,''  murmured  the  old 
fisherman. 

"God  prosper  you,''  echoed  the  others. 

Then  down  into  the  wide  waste  of  still  water 
slid  the  body  of  Kisseck. 

Danny  saw  it  done.     The  image  tliat  had 


160     SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME, 

possession  of  him  stood  up  so  vividly  before  him 
at  that  instant  that  he  shrieked.  He  peered  into 
the  water  as  if  his  eyes  would  bring  back  what 
the  immemorial  sea  ihad  swallowed  up  forever. 

Forever?     No!     Listen! 

Listen  to  that  rumble  as  the  waves  circle  over 
the  spot  where  the  body  has  disappeared!  It  is 
the  noise  of  the  iron  weights  shifting  from  their 
places.  They  are  tearing  open  the  canvas  in 
which  the  body  is  wrapped.  They  have  rolled 
out  of  it  and  sunk  into  the  sea. 

And  now  look! 

The  body,  free  of  the  w^eights,  has  come  up 
to  the  surface.  It  is  floating  Hke  a  boat.  The 
torn  canvas  is  opening  out.  It  is  spreading  like 
a  sail  in  the  breeze.  Away  it  goes  over  the  sea! 
It  is  flying  across  the  \^aters,  straight  for  the 
land. 

The  men  stood  and  stared  in  each  other's 
faces  in  speechless  dismay.  It  was  as  though 
an  avenging  angel  had  torn  the  murdered  man 
from  their  grasp  and  cried  aloud  in  their  ears, 
''Blood  will  have  blood." 

They  strained  their  eyes  to  watch  it  until  !t 
became  a  speck  in  the  twilight  of  the  dawn,  and 
coiuld  be  seen  no  more. 

Nor  had  the  marvel  ended  yet.    A  great  lumi- 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  ^61 

nous  line  arose  and  stretched  from  their  quar- 
ter towards  the  land,  white  as  a  moon's  water- 
way, but  with  no  moon  to  make  it.  Flashing 
along  the  sea's  surface  for  several  seconds,  il 
seemed  to  the  men  like  the  finger  of  God  mark- 
ing the  "body's  path  on  the  waters. 

The  phenomenon  will  be  understood  by  those 
only  who  'have  marked  closely  what  has  been 
said  of  the  varying  weather  of  this  fearful  night, 
and  can  interpret  aright  its  many  signs.  To 
the  crew  of  the  Ben-my  Chree  it  had  but  one 
awful  explanation. 


162  SEE'S  ALL  TEE  WORLD  TO  ME, 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"oh,    ABSALOM,   MY   SON,   MY  SON." 

As  Mona  stood  at  the  angle  of  the  mountain- 
path  and  the  road  leading  to  the  door  of  Kis- 
seck's  cottage,  she  saw  four  men  pass  (her  and 
run  into  the  house.  She  recognized  Danny  and 
his  uncle,  but  not  Christian.  Pei'haps  the  dark- 
ness deceived  her,  but  she  thought  the  other  two 
were  Corteen  and  Killip.  After  a  few  minutes 
she  heard  loud  voices  from  the  cottage,  mingled 
with  terrific  oaths.  If  the  police  returned  sud- 
denly, and  were  made  witnesses  to  this  turmoil, 
discovery  and  conviction  were  certain.  Mona 
crept  up,  meaning  to  warn  the  men  and  get 
them  to  put  out  to  sea.  She  knocked  and  had  no 
answer.  She  tried  thie  door,  and  it  was  barred. 
Still  the  loud  quarreling  continued.  Among 
other  voices,  she  recognized  Kisseck's  and  Dan- 
ny's. Christian's  voice  she  ciould  not  'hear,  but 
in  her  perturbation  and  the  angry  tumult  any 
voice  might  escape  lier.  Then  came  the  pistol- 
s/hot, the  cry,  the  fall,  and  a  long  silence.     She 


SHE'S  ALL  TUB  WORLD  TO  ME.  163 

knocked  again,  and  yet  again.     She  called  on 
.  Christian.     She  had  no  reply.     She  called  on 
Kisseck.    Then  came  the  words,  "Bill  is  gone  to 
bed."    Somehow,  she  knew  not  why,  the  words 
chilled  her  to  the   heart's  core.     Fearful,  dis- 
traught, in  the  agony  of  uncertainty  she  fled 
away  to  the  town.     Christian,  where  was  he? 
Had  he  indeed  passed  her  among  the  rest?  Was 
he  in  that  house  when  that  shot  was  fired?     At 
whoim?  by  whom?  wherefore?     The  suspense 
was  more  terrible  than  the  reality  could  have 
been. 

Through  Peel  and  on  to  Balladhoo  Mona  ran 
with  shuddering  heart.  She  asked  for  Christian 
first.  ■  How  well  her  fears  told  her  that  he  was 
not  there.  She  asked  for  the  gardener.  Jemmy 
Quark  Balladhoo,  like  Tommy-Biill^beg,  -was 
away  at  the  waits.  Something  must  be  done, 
for  something  terrible  had  occurred.  The  hour 
was  late,  but  Mylrea  Balladhoo  w^ould  certainly 
be  awake,  and  waiting  the  return  of  Kerruish 
Kinvig  with  intelligence  of  the  expected  cap- 
ture. 

'Tell  Mr.  INIylrea  I  wish  to  speak  with  him  at 
once  and  alone,''  said  Mona. 

In  another  moment  Mylrea  Balladhoo  came 
to  the  door  with  a  lamp  held  above  his  head,  to 
catch  sisfht  of  'his  late  visitor. 


164  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

*'Ah,  the  young  woman  from  Kinvig.  Come 
in,  my  girl ;  come  in,  come  in." 

Mona  followed  the  old  gentleman  Into  the 
Ihouse.  Her  face  In  the  lamplight  was  ashy  pale, 
the  pupils  of  her  eyes  were  dilated,  her  lips  quiv- 
ered, her  fingers  trembled  and  were  Intertwined. 

*'Is  Mr.  Christian  at  home,  sir?"  said  Mona. 

Mylrea  Balladhoo  glanced  up  under  'his  spec- 
tacks.  What  Kerruish  Kinvig  had  once  said 
of  Christian  and  this  young  woman  flashed 
across  his  mind  at  that  Instant.  ''No,  my  girl, 
no.  Christian  Is  helping  the  Castle  Rushen  men 
to  lay  hands  on  that  gang  of  scoundrels,  you 
know.'' 

"He  is  not  with  them,  sir,"  said  Mona,  with  a 
fearful  effort. 

"Oh,  yes,  though;  I  sent  Jemmy  after  him  to 
instruct  him.  But  he'll  be  home  soon;  I  expect 
him  ever}^  minute.  I  hope  they've  captured  the 
vagabonds." 

It  w^s  terrible  to  go  on.  Mona  lifted  up  her 
whole  soul  In  prayer  for  this  old  man,  whose 
liour  of  utmost  need  had  now  come.  And  she 
herself  was  to  deal  the  blow  that  must  shatter 
his  liappiness.  "God  help  him,"  she  muttered 
passionately,  and  the  Involuntary  prayer  was 
made  audible. 

Mylrea  Balladhoo  rose  stiffly  to  his  feet.    He 


)S'//L".V  ALL  THE    WORLD   TiJ  ML.  105 

looked  for  an  instant  in  silence  into  the  pale  face 
before  him. 

"What  is  it?"  he  faltered,  with  an  affrighted 
stare.  ''What  news?  Is  Christian —  Where  is 
Christian?    Have  the  scoundrels — injured  him?'' 

*'He  was  one  of  themselves,"  said  Alona,  and 
dropped  to  her  knees  in  the  depth  of  her  agony. 

Then  slowly,  disjointedly,  inconsequentially, 
repeating  incident  after  incident,  beginning 
again  and  again,  explaining,  excusing,  praying 
for  pardon,  and  clasping  the  old  man's  knees  in 
the  tempest  of  her  passion,  Mona  told  the  whole 
story  as  she  knew  it :  how  she  heard  too  late  that 
Christian  had  gone  out  in  Kisseck's  boat;  how 
s/he  tried  to  compass  his  rescue ;  how,  at  the  very 
crown  and  top  of  what  she  mistook  for  her  suc- 
cess, the  hand  of  Fate  itself  seemed  to  'have  been 
thrust  in,  to  the  ruin  of  all.  She  finished  with 
the  stor}^  ol  the  flight  of  the  four  men  to  Kis- 
seck's cottage,  the  quarrelling  there,  the  pistol- 
shot,  and  the  strange  answer  to  her  knock. 

Mylrea  Balladhoo  stood  still  with  the  stupid, 
bewildered  look  of  one  who  has  been  dealt  an 
unexpected  and  dreadful  blow.  The  world 
seemed  to  be  crumbling  under  him.  At  that 
first  instant  there  was  something  like  a  ghastly 
smile  playing  over  his  pallid  face.  Then  the 
truth  came  rolling  over  his  soul.  The  sight  was 
fearful  to  look  upon.     He  fell  back  with  a  low 


166  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

moan.  But  the  good  God  sent  the  stricken  old 
man  the  gift  of  tears.  He  wept  aloud,  and  cried 
that  he  could  better  have  borne  poverty  than 
such  disgrace.  "Oh,  my  so'U,  my  son!  how  have 
you  shortened  my  days!  How  have  you  clothed 
me  with  shame;  oh  my  son,  my  son!"  But  love 
was  uppermost  even  in  that  bitter  hour. 

It  w^as  not  for  this  that  Mona  had  made  her 
w^ay  to  Balladhoo.  She  wanted  help.  She  must 
find  where  Christian  was,  and  whether  in  truth 
he  had  been  one  of  the  four  that  passed  iher  on 
the  mountain  path. 

Together  she  land  Mylrea  Balladhoo  set  off  for 
Kisseck's  cottage.  Hciw  the  old  father  tottered 
on  the  way!  How  low  his  head  was  bent,  as  if 
the  darkness  itself  had  eyes  to  peer  into  his 
darkened  soul. 

When  they  reached  the  cottage  in  the  quarry 
the  door  was  wide  open.  All  was  silent  now. 
No  one  was  within.  A  candle  burned  low  o.n  the 
table.  The  fire  was  out.  A  soft  seaman's  cap 
lay  near  the  porch.  Mcma  picked  it  up.  It  was 
Danny  Fayle's.  They  stepped  into  the  kitchen. 
A  shallow  pool  was  in  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
and  the  light  from  the  candle  flickei^ed  in  it.  It 
was  a  pool  of  blood. 

'*My  son,  my  son!"  cried  Mylrea  Balladhoo. 
His  knees  failed  him,  and  he  sank  to  the  floor. 
Tortured    by    suspense,   bewildered,   distracted, 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  167 

in  an  agony  of  doubt,  he  had  juimped  to  the  con- 
clusion that  this  was  Ohrisitian's  bliood,  and  that 
he  had  been  murdered.  No  protest  from  Mona, 
no  argument,  no  entreaty,  prevailed  to  disturb 
that  instant  inference. 

"He  is  dead,  he  is  dead!"  he  cried;  "now  is  my 
heart  smitten  and  withered  like  grass.''  Then, 
rising  to  his  feet,  and  gazing  through  his  poor, 
blurred  eyes  into  ]\Iona's  face  with  a  look  O'f  re- 
proach, "Young  woman,"  he  said,  "why  did  you 
torture  an  old  man  with  words  of  hope?  Cliris- 
tian  is  dead.  My  son  is  dead.  Dead?  Can  it 
be  true?  Yes,  dead.  Lord,  Lord,  now  let  me 
eat  asihes  for  bread,  and  mingle  my  drink  with 
weeping.'' 

And  so  he  poured  out  his  soul  in  a  torrent  of 
wald  laments.  Debts  were  as  trifles  to  this.  Dis- 
grace was  but  as  a  dream  to  this  dread  reality. 
"Oh,  my  son,  my  son.  Would  to  God  I  had  died 
for  thee.    Oh,  my  son,  my  son !" 

Mona  stood  by  and  saw  the  unassuageable 
grief  shake  him  to  the  soul.  Then  she  took  his 
hand  in  silence,  and  together  they  stepped  again 
into  the  night.  Out  of  that  chamber  of  death 
Mylrea  went  forth  a  shattered  man.  He  would 
not  return  to  Balladhoo.  Side  by  side  they 
tramped  up  and  down  the  harbor  quay  the  long 
night  through.  Up  and  down,  up  and  down, 
through   darkness  and   rain,   and   then   under 


168      SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

moonlight  and  the  stars,  until  the  day  dawned 
and  the  cheerless  sun  rose  over  the  sleeping 
town. 

Very  pitiful  was  it  to  see  how  the  old  man's 
soul  struggled  with  a  vain  effort  to  glean  com- 
fort from  his  faith.  Every  text  that  rose  to  his 
heart  seemed  to  wound  it  afresh. 

"As  arrows  are  in  the  hand  of  a  mighty  man, 
so  are  children  of  the  youth ....  They  shall  not 

be  ashamed Oh,  Absalom,  my  son,  my  son 

....  For  thy  sake  I  have  borne  reproach ;  shame 

hath  covered  my  face I  am  poor  and  needy; 

make  haste  unto  me,  O  God ....  Hide  not  Thy 
face  from  Thy  servant,  for  I  am  in  trouble .... 
Set  thine  house  in  order....  O'h,  God,  Thou 
knowest  my  foolishness....  The  waters  have 
overwhelmed  me,  the  streams  have  gone  over 
my  soul,  the  proud  waters  have  gone  over  my 
soul.-' 

Thus  hour  after  hour,  tottering  feebly  at 
Mona's  side,  leaning  sometimes  on  the  girl's 
arm,  the  old  man  poured  forth  his  grief.  At  one 
moment,  as  they  stood  by  the  ruined  end  of  the 
pier,  and  Danny's  gorse  fire  glowed  red  over  the 
Lockjaw  Creek,  and  tihe  moon  broke  through  a 
black  rain-cloud  over  the  town,  the  sorrowing 
man  turned  calmly  to  Mona  and  said,  with  a 
strange  resignation:  'T  will  be  quiet.  Christian 
is  dead.     Surely  I  shiall  quiet  myself  as  a  child 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  109 

that  is  weaned  of  its  mother.  Yes,  my  soul  is 
even  as  a  weaned  child." 

Just  then  two  of  the  police  who  had  been  on 
the  cliff-head  came  up  and  spoke. 

''They  have  escaped  us  so  far,  sir,"  he  said^ 
''but  we  are  certain  to  have  them.  The  fire  yon- 
der was  lit  to  warn  them.  Your  fishing-boat, 
the  Ben-my-Chree,  has  been  taken  out  to  sea. 
Ever}'  man  that  is  in  .her  must  be  captured. 
Don't  trouble  to  stay  longer,  sir.  We  are  posted 
evers'where  about.  They  are  doomed  men. 
]\Iake  your  mind  easy,  sir,  and  go  off  to  bed. 
Good-night.'' 

Alona  felt  the  old  man's  arm  tremble  as  it  lay 
on  hers. 

The  day  dawned  and  they  parted.  !Mylrea 
Balladhoo  said  he  would  go  home  now,  and 
away  he  started  along  the  shore.  With  the  com- 
ing of  daylight  his  sorrow  bled  afresh,  and  he 
cried  piteously. 

^lona  turned  in  the  opposite  direction.  She, 
on  her  part,  had  not  given  up  hope  of  Christian. 
She  could  not  forget  that  she  had  not  recognized 
him  among  the  men  who  ran  past  her  into  Kis- 
seck's  house.  Christian  was  still  alive,  but  who 
wras  it  that  was  dead  ? 

Mona  stopped.  The  seaman's  cap  which  she 
had  picked  up  at  the  porch  of  the  deserted  cot- 
tage in  the  quarry  she  had  carried  all  night  in 


170  SEE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

Ilier  hand.  At  that  instant  she  looked  at  ilt  agiain, 
and  seeiinig  it  for  the  first  time  in  the  dayHg;ht, 
she  saw  that  it  was  stained  with  spots  of  blood. 
It  was  Danny  Fayle's  cap.  Then  it  must  be  Dan- 
ny who  was  dead.  The  inference  in  her  case 
was  as  swift  as  in  the  case  of  Mylrea  Balladhoo. 
And  as  Httle  would  argument  or  entreaty  have 
prevailed  to  disturb  it. 

Danny  was  dead,  and  it  was  she  who  had  sent 
him  to  his  death.  His  great  little  heart  that  had 
been  broken  for  love  of  her,  had  also'  died  for 
her  sake. 

And  now  the  anguish  of  the  girl  was  not  less 
than  that  of  the  old  man  himself.  Where  was 
Christian?  Did  he  know  what  Kisseck  had 
done?  It  must  have  been  Kisseck.  But  God 
would  punish  him.  Had  Christian  gone  out  to 
'sea? 

jNIona  set  of¥  for  the  Lockjaw  Creek,  think- 
ing that  some  trace  of  Christian  might  perhaps 
be  found  there. 

She  took  the  high  path.  The  sun  had  risen, 
and  the  gorse  fire  burned  blue.  When  she  came 
by  the  mouth  of  the  old  mine  she  was  thinking 
both  of  Danny  and  of  Christian.  **He  will  be 
cold  now;  he  will  be  in  heaven,"  she  muttered 
to  herself. 

Then  it  was  that,  half-buried  in  the  pit,  she 
saw  the  pallid,  deep-ploughed  face  of  Christian 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WOHLD   TO  ME.  171 

himself.  She  could  not  suppress  a  cry.  Then 
she  heard  the  creak  and  fall  of  the  timbers  under 
(him.  For  a  moment  she  lost  consciousness,  and 
in  another  moment  she  was  in  Christian's  arms. 

Hardly  had  the  be^dldered  senses  of  these  two 
regained  an  instant's  composure  when  a  man 
came  running  towards  them  from  the  town.  In 
disjointed  w^ords  he  told  them  that  some  fearful 
thing  had  washed  ashore  in  the  bay,  and  that 
^lylrea  Balladhoo  was  there,  raving  over  it  like 
one  mad.    This  is  what  had  happened. 

As  Balladhoo  turned  along  the  shore  towards 
'his  home,  bemoaning  what  he  believed  to  be  the 
death  of  Christian,  his  dazed  eye  caught  sight 
of  a  curious  object  some  distance  out  at  sea.  It 
might  be  a  gig  with  a  sail,  but  it  looked  too 
small.  It  might  be  a  diver  or  a  solan  goose  with 
outspread  wings,  but  it  looked  too  Urge.  What 
it  was  mattered  little  to  him.  The  world  had 
lost  its  light.  The  sun  that  shone  above  him 
entered  not  into  his  soul.  His  days  henceforth 
were  to  be  but  as  a  shadow  that  passeth  away. 

Balladhoo  walked  on,  meaning  and  cr}-ing 
aloud.  As  he  approached  his  house  every  step 
awoke  a  new  grief;  every  stone,  every  hedge, 
was  sacred  to  some  memor\-.  Here  he  had  seen 
the  lad  playing  with  other  lads.  Here,  laughing 
and  cialling,  he  had  seen  him  ride  the  rough  colt 
his  fatlier  gave  him.    As  he  opened  the  gate  he 


X72  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

could  almoist  Imagine  he  saw  a  falr-balred  boy 
i-uiunlng  to  meet  him,  a  whip  In  one  hand  and  a 
toy  horse  tumbhng  behind.  Balladhoo  Hfted  his 
head  to  brush  away  the  bUndlng  tears.  As  he 
did  so  his  eyes  fell  on  a  window  In  the  gable 
half-hidden  by  the  leafless  boughs  of  an  old  rose- 
tree.  That  awoke  the  bitterest  and  oldest  nitm- 
o-ry  of  all.  It  was  of  a  fair  young  w^oman' s  form, 
with  joy  in  the  blue  eyes  and  laughter  on  the  red 
lips.  In  her  -arms  was  a.  child,  and  as  she. cried 
to  it  *'L'Ook,"  the  little  one,  plunging  and  leap- 
ing, called  'Tapa,  papa,"  and  clapped  its  tiny 
hands. 

The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  ha,th  taken 
away;  blessed 

No,  Mylrea  Balladhoo  could  not  enter  his 
house.    It  was  full  of  too  many  spectres. 

He  turned  back.  It  was  to  be  anywhere;  he 
knew  not  where.  Jemmy,  the  gardener,  who 
had  been  awake  all  night  in  amazement  and  dis- 
tress at  his  master's  absence,  saw  him  now  ap- 
speak  to  him,  and,  failing  to  get  a  word  in  reply, 
walked  in  silence  by  his  side. 

He  returnied  along  the  shore.  And  now  the 
white  thing  which  he  had  seen  before  was  with- 
in fifty  yards  of  the  beach,  and  was  sailing  due 
to  land.  What  oould  it  be?  In  a  minute  it 
drifted  to  Balladhoo's  feet,  and  then  he  saw  that 
it  "was  a  human  body  which  had  been  bound  in 


i^IIE'S  ALL  Tin:  WOL'LI)   TO  ML.  i;3 

canvas  for  burial  at  sea,  and  had  come  ashore  in 
this  strange  way.  He  gave  it  but  one  glance. 
He  did  not  look  to  see  whose  body  it  was.  He 
concluded  at  once  that  it  must  be  the  body  of 
Christian.  Had  he  not  heard  that  the  men  had 
put  out  to  sea  ?  They  had  taken  the  body  of  his 
murdered  son  with  them,  and  tried  to  bur}'  it 
there  and  hide  their  crime  forever.  It  was  all  so 
terribly  plain  to  Balladhoo's  bewildered  mind. 
Then  he  cried  aloud  in  a  tempest  of  agony  that 
nothing  could  restrain.  His  religion  seemed  to 
desert  him.  At  least  it  gave  no  comfort  His 
face  became  suddenly  and  awfully  discolored 
and  stern,  and,  standing  by  the  dread  thing  on 
the  sand,  the  tottering  old  man  lifted  his  clinched 
fist  to  the  sky  in  silent  imprecation  of  Heaven. 

Jemmy  Quark  left  him,  and,  rushing  to  the 
tov.-n,  cried  out  that  something  horrible  had 
washed  ashore.  One  of  those  who  heard  hira 
had  seen  ^vlona  and  Balladhoo  part  on  the  quay. 
This  m.an  went  in  pursuit  of  the  young  woman, 
who  had  been  seen  to  take  the  path  over  Con- 
trary. 

And  now  Christian  and  ^lona,  with  a  group 
of  others,  hastened  to  the  bay.  Th(?re — seeing 
nothing  but  the  dread  thing  lying  on  the  shore — 
was  Mylrea  Balladhoo.  He  was  crying  aloud 
that  if  Heaven  had  spared  his  boy  Hell  might 
have  taken  all  else  he  had. 


t74  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

*'Oh,  my  son,  my  son,  would  to  God  I  liad 
died  for  you !     Oh,  my  son,  my  son !" 

Then  the  stricken  father  went  down  on  his 
knees  and  stretched  out  a  feeble,  trembling  hand 
to  draw  aside  the  canvas  that  hid  the  face. 

As  he  did  so  Mona  and  Christian  came  up. 
Christian  stood  opposite  his  father  on  the  other 
side  of  the  corpse;  the  old  man  on  his  knees,  the 
son  on  his  feet,  the  dead  man  between  them. 

The  others  stood  around.  Noine  spoke.  Then 
Mona,  motioning  Christian  to  silence,  sitepped 
up  to  Balladhoo  and  knelt  beside  him.  It  was 
better  that  he  should  realize  the  truth  by  degrees 
and  not  too  suddenly.  He  would  see  the  face, 
and  know  that  it  was  not  the  face  of  his  son. 
Mona,  on  her  part,  knew  it  wo'uld  be  Danny's 
face.  And  the  boy  was  dead.  The  beating  of 
her  heart  fell  low. 

There  was  a  moment  of  unutterable  suspense. 
Then,  with  rapid,  audible  breath,  the  old  man 
stretched  out  a  half-palsied  hand  and  drew  off 
the  loose  canvas. 

They  saw  the  face  of  Kisseck. 
Balladhoo  got  up  with  great  wide  eyes.    There 
before  him,  face  to  face  with  him,  was  Christian 
himself. 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  175 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 
she's  all  the  world  to  me. 

When  the  crew  of  the  Ben-my-Chree  hall  re- 
covered from  their  first  consternation  on  seeing 
the  body  of  Kisseck  rise  to  the  surface  and  shoot 
stood  once  more  out  to  sea.  The  gentle  breeze 
away  like  a  sceptre  boat,  they  hoisted  sail  and 
filled  the  canvas,  and  for  half  an  hour  the  jib 
lay  over  the  side,  while  the  fishing-boat  scudded 
along  like  a  startled  bird. 

The  sun  rose  over  the  land,  a  thin  gauze  ob- 
scuring it.  The  red  light  flashed  and  died  away 
as  if  the  wind  were  the  sunshine.  The  haggard 
faces  of  the  men  caught  at  moments  a  lurid 
glow  from  it.  In  the  west  a  mass  of  bluish  cloud 
rested  a  little  while  on  the  horizon,  and  then 
passed  into  a  nimbus  of  gray  rain-cloud  that 
floated  above  it.  Such  was  the  dawn  and  sunrise 
of  a  fateful  day. 

They  were  sailing  north;  they  had  no  haven 
in  their  view.  But  Peel  was  beliind  them. 
Think  what  home  is  to  the  fisherman  who  goes 
down  into  the  great  deep.    Then  know  that  to 


E76     SHE'S  ALL  TEE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

them  home  could  be  all  this  no  longer.  The  sil- 
very voices  of  girls,  the  innocent  prattle  of  little 
children,  the  welcome  of  wife,  the  glowing  hearth 
— these  were  theirs  no  more.  Then  belly  out, 
brave  sail,  and  back  off  with  a  noise  like  thunder; 
let  the  blocks  creak,  and  the  ropes  strain.  Any- 
where, anywhere,  away  from  the  withering  re- 
proach of  the  crime  of  one  and  the  guilt  of  all. 

But  they  were  standing  only  two  miles  off  Jur- 
hy  Point  when  once  more  the  wind  fell  to  a  dead 
calm.  The  men  looked  into  eacli  other's  faces. 
Here  was  the  work  of  fate.  There  wais  to  be  no 
flying  away;  God  meant  them  to  die  on  these 
waters.  The  sail  flapped  idly;  they  furled  it,  and 
the  boat  drifted  south. 

Then  one  after  one  sat  down  on  the  deck,  help- 
less and  hopeless.  Hours  went  by.  The  day 
wore  on.  A  passing  breath  sometimes  stirred 
the  waters,  and  again  all  around  was  dumb, 
dead,  pulseless  peace.  Hearing  only  the  faint 
flap  of  the  rippling  tide,  they  drifted,  drifted, 
drifted. 

Then  they  thouglit  of  home  once  more,  and 
now  with  other  feelings.  Death  was  before  fbhem 
— slow,  sure,  relentless  death.  There  was  to  be  no 
jugglery.  Let  it  be  death  at  home  rather  than 
death  on  this  desert  sea.  Anything,  anytihing 
but  this  blind  end— this  dumb  end;  this  dying 
bit  by  bit  on  still  waters.    To  see  the  darkness 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  177 

come  again  and  the  sun  rise  afresh,  and  once 
more  the  sun  sink  and  the  darkness  deepen,  and 
still  to  lie  there  with  nothing  around  but  the 
changeless  sea,  and  nothing  above  but  the  emp- 
ty sky,  and  only  the  eye  of  God  upon  them, 
while  the  winds  and  waters  lay  in  His  avenging 
hand.  Let  it  rather  be  death — swift  death,  just 
death — there  where  their  crime  was  attempted, 
and  one  black  deed  was  done. 

Thus  despair  took  hold  of  them  and  drove  all 
fear  away.  Each  hard  man,  with  despair  seated 
on  his  rugged  face,  longed,  like  a  sick  child,  to 
lay  his  head  in  the  lap  of  home. 

"What's  it  saying?''  muttered  the  old  man 
Quilleash,  '''A  green  hill  when  far  aw^ay;  bare, 
bare  when  it  is  near.'  " 

It  was  some  vague  sense  of  their  hopelessness 
that  was  floating  through  the  old  man's  mind 
as  he  recalled  the  pathetic  IManx  proverb.  The 
others  looked  down  at  the  deck  wdth  a  stony 
stare. 

Danny  still  lay  forward.  When  the  speck  that 
had  glided  along  the  waters  could  be  seen  no 
more,  he  had  turned  and  gazed  in  silence  to- 
wards the  eastern  light  and  the  distant  shores  of 
morning.  If  madness  be  the  symbol  en  earth 
of  the  tortures  oi  the  damned,  Danny  had  then 
a  few  hours'  blessed  respite.  He  saw  calmly 
what  he  had  done  and  why  he  had  done  it. 


178  8HE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

''Surely,  God  is  just,"  he  thooight:  "surely  He 
will  not  condemn  me ;  surely,  surely  not."  Then, 
amid  surging  inward  tears,  which  his  eyes  re- 
fused to  shed,  the  simple  lad  tried  to  recall  the 
good  words  that  he  had  heard  in  the  course  of 
his  poor,  neglected,  battered  life.  One  after 
another  they  came  back  to  him,  most  of  them 
from  some  farnaway  and  'hazy  dream-world, 
strangely  bright  with  the  vision  of  a  face  that 
looked  fondly  upon  him,  and  even  kissed  him 
tenderly.  "Gentle  Jesus!"  and  "Now  I  lay  me 
d'own  to  sleep" — he  could  remember  them  both 
pretty  well,  and  the  simple  words  went  up  with 
the  supplicator}'  ardor  of  his  great  grown  heart 
to  the  sky  on  which  his  longing  eyes  were  bent. 

The  thought  of  Mona  intertwined  itself  with 
the  yearning  hope  of  pardon  and  peace.  It  sus- 
tained him  now  to  think  of  her.  She  became  part 
of  his  scheme  of  penitence.  His  love  for  her  was 
to  redeem  him  in  the  Father's  eye.  He  was  to 
take  it  to  the  foot  of  God's  white  throne,  and 
when  his  guilt  came  up  for  judgment  he  was  to 
lay  it  meekly  there  and  look  up  into  the  good 
Father's  face.  God  had  sent  him  his  great  love, 
and  it  was  not  for  his  harm  that  he  had  sent  it. 

Then  a  film  overspread  his  sight,  and  when  he 
awoke  he  knew  that  he  had  slept.  He  had  seen 
Mona  in  a  dream.  There  was  a  bright  thought 
in  her  face.    She  loved  and  was  beloved.    Everv- 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  179 

thing  about  her  spoke  of  peace.  All  her  troubles 
were  gone  forever.  No,  not  that  either.  In  her 
eyes  was  the  reflection  of  his  own  face,  and 
sometimes  it  made  them  sad.  At  the  memor)^  of 
this  the  dried-up  well  of  Danny's  own  eyes 
moistened  at  last  to  tears. 

The  cold,  thick  winter  day  was  far  worn  to- 
w^ards  sunset.  Xot  a  breath  of  wind  was  stirring. 
Gilded  by  the  sun's  rays,  the  waters  to  the  west 
made  a  floor  of  bleared  red.     The  fishing-boat 
had  drifted  nearly  ten  miles  to  the  south.    If  she 
should  drift  two  miles  more  she  must  float  into 
the  south-easterly  current  that  flows  under  Con- 
trary- Head.     The  crew  lay  half-frozen  on  the 
deck.    Xo  one  cared  to  go  below.    All  was  still 
around  them,  and  silence  was  in  their  midst.    At 
last  a  man  lifted  his  head,  and  asked  if  any  one 
could  say  what  had  become  of  Christian.     Xo 
one  knew.    Old  Quilleash  thought  he  must  have 
come  by  some  mischief,  and  perhaps  be  captured 
or  even  dead.  It  was  only  the  general  hopeless- 
ness of  their  hearts  that  gave  a  ready  consent  to 
this  view  of  the  possibilities.     Then  they  talked 
of  Christian  as  if  he  were  no  longer  a  living  man. 
*'He  didn't  want  to  be  in  it,  didn't  the  vounsf 
masther,"  said  one. 

"Did  you  see  how  he  was  criss-crossin'  and 

putting  up  obstacles  at  every  turn?"  said  another. 

"Tbxat  was  nothin'  to  the  way  he  was  glad 


l8o  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

when  we  saw  the  lad's  fire  over  the  Lockjaw, 
and  had  to  make  a  slant  for  it  and  leave  tlie 
thing  not  done." 

"Aw,  well,  well,"  said  Ouilleash,  "it  was  poor 
Bill  that's  gone,  God  help  him,  that  led  the 
young  masther  into  the  shoal  water.  What's  it 
sayin? — 'Black  as  is  the  raven,  he'll  get  a  part- 
ner;' but  Bill,  poor  chap,  he  must  be  for  makin' 
a  raven  out  of  a  dove." 

"God  won't  be  hard  on  the  masther.  No,  no, 
God'll  never  be  hard  on  a  good  heart  because  he 
keeps  company  with  a  bad  head.'' 

"It'll  be  Bill,  poor  chap,  that'll  have  tO'  stand 
for  it  when  the  big  day  comes,"  said  Davy  Cain. 

"No,  not  that  anyway.  Still,  for  sure,  it's 
every  herring  must  hang  by  his  own  gill.  Aw, 
yes,  man,"  said  Tommy  Tear. 

"Poor  IMasther  Christian,"  said  Ouilleash,  "I 
remember  him  since  he  was  a  baby  in  his 
mother's  arms — and  a  fine  lady,  too.  And  w^hen 
he  grew  up  it  was,  'How  are  you,  Billy  Quil- 
leash?'  And  when  he  came  straight  from  Ox- 
ford College,  and  all  the  larning  at  him,  and  the 
fine  English  tongue,  and  all  to  that,  it  was,  'And 
how  are  you  to-day,  Billy?'  'I'm  middlin'  to- 
day, ]\Iasther  Christian.'  Aw,  yes,  yes,  a  tender 
heart  at  him  anyhow,  and  no  pride  at  all,  at  aU." 

The  old  man's  memories  were  not  thrilling  to 


SEE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  i8i 

narrate,  but  they  brought  tears  to  his  eyes,  and 
he  brushed  them  away  with  his  sleeve. 

They  were  now  drifting  past  Peel,  two  miles 
from  the  coast.  It  was  Christmas-eve.  Old  Quil- 
leash  thought  of  this,  and  they  talked  of  Christ- 
mas-eves gone  by,  and  of  what  happy  days  there 
had  been.  This  was  too  tender  a  chord,  and  they 
were  soon  silent  once  more,  Then,  while  the 
waters  lay  cold  and  clear  and  still,  and  the  sun 
was  sinking  in  the  west,  there  came  floating  to 
them  from  the  land  through  the  breathless  air 
the  sound  of  church-bells.  It  was  the  last  drop 
in  their  cup.  The  rude  men  could  bear  up  no 
longer.  ]\Iore  than  one  dropped  his  head  on  to 
his  knees  and  sobbed  aloud.  Then  Ouilleash, 
in  a  husky  voice,  and  coarsely,  as  if  ashamed  of 
the  impulse,  said,  "Some  one  pray,  will  you?'' 
'*Ay,"  said  anotlier.  '"Ay,"  said  a  third.  But  no 
one  prayed. 

*'You,  Billy,"  said  one.  The  old  man  had  never 
known  a  prayer. 

"You,  Davy."  Davy  shook  his  head.  Xone 
could  pray. 

All  lay  quiet  as  death  around  them.  Only  the 
faint  sound  of  the  bells  was  borne  to  them  as 
a  mellow  whisper. 

Then  Danny  rose  silently  to  his  feet.  Xo  one 
had  thought  of  asking  him.  With  that  longing 
look  in  his  big  eyes,  he  turned  to  the  land  and  be- 


i82     SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME, 

gan  to  sing.  He  was  thinking  of  Mona.  All 
liis  soul  was  going  out  to  her.  She  was  his  an- 
chor, his  hope,  his  prayer.  The  lad's  voice, 
laden  with  tears,  floated  away  over  the  great 
waters.  This  was  what  he  sang: 
"Her  brow  is  Hke  the  snaw-drift, 

Her  neck  is  like  the  swan, 
Her  face  it  is  the  fairest 

That  e'er  the  sun  shone  on; 
That  e'er  the  sun  shone  on. 

;|i  ^  ^  ^  :Js 

And  she's  a'  the  world  to  me; 
And  for  bonnie  Annie  Laurie 

I'd  lay  me  doon  and  dee." 

The  boy's  eyes  were  bright  with  a  radiant 
brightness,  and  glistening  tears  ran  down  his 
face  in  gracious  drops  like  dew.  The  men  hung 
their  heads  and  were  mute. 

All  at  once  there  came  a  breath  of  wind.  At 
first  it  was  as  soft  as  an  angel's  whisper.  Then  it 
grew  stronger  and  ruffled  the  sea.  Every  man 
lifted  his  eyes  and  looked  at  his  mates.  Each  was 
struggling  with  a  painful  idea  that  perhaps  he 
was  the  victim  of  a  delusion  of  the  sense.  But 
the  chill  breath  of  wind  was  indeed  among  them. 
*Tsn't  is  beginning  to  puff  up  from  the  sou'- 
west?"  asked  one  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

At  that  Davy  Cain  jumped  to  his  feet.  The 
ideii  of  the  supernatural  had  already  gone  from 


SHE'S  ILL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  183 

him  at  least.    *'Xow  for  the  sheets,  and  to  make 
sail,"  he  cried. 

As  mate  formerly,  Davy  constituted  himself 
skipper  now. 

One  after  one  the  men  got  up  and  bustled 
about.     Their  limbs  were  well-nigh  frozen  stiff. 

''Heave  hearty,  men;  heave  and  away.'' 

All  was  stir  and  animation  in  an  instant.  Pul- 
ling at  the  ropes,  the  men  had  begun  to  laugh — 
yes,  with  their  husky,  grating,  tear-drowned 
voices  even  to  laugh. 

''Bear  a  hand,  men.  We're  drifting  fast  into 
the  down-stream  to  Contrar\',"  cried  Davy. 

Then  a  grewsome  sense  of  the  ludicrous  took 
hold  of  him. .  It  was  the  swift  reaction  from  sol- 
emn thoughts. 

"Lay  on,  Quilleash,  .my  man.  Why,  you're 
going  about  like  a  brewing-pan.  What  are 
your  arms  for,  eh?'' 

The  old  fellow's  eyes,  that  had  been  dim  with 
tears  a  moment  ago,  glistened  with  grisly  mis- 
chief. 

''Who  hasn't  heard  that  a  ^lanxman's  arms 
are  three  legs?"  he  said,  with  a  hungry  smile. 

How  the  men  laughed!  What  humor  there 
was  now  in  the  haggard  old  saw! 

"Where  are  you  for,  Davy?"  cried  one. 

''Scotland — Shetlands,"  answered  Da\w.  in- 
definitelv. 


i84  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

**Hooraa!    Bold  fellow.    Ha,  ha,  ha,  he." 

**IVe  been  there  before  to-day,  Davy,"  said 
Quilleash;  "they're  all  poor  men  there;  but  it's 
right  kind  they  are.  Aw,  yes,  it's  safe  and  well 
we'll  be  when  we're  there.  What's  it  sayin'? — 
*When  one  poor  man  helps  another  poor  man, 
God  laughs.' " 

How  they  worked!  In  two  minutes  mainsail 
and  mizzen  were  up,  and  they  filled  away  and 
stood  out.  But  they  had  drifted  into  the  down- 
stream, though  they  knew  it  not  as  yet. 

From  the  shores  of  death  they  had'  sailed 
somehow  into  the  waters  of  life.  Hope  was 
theirs  once  more. 

They  began  to  talk  of  what  had  caused  the 
wind.  "It  was  the  blessed  St.  Patrick,"  said  Kil- 
lip.  St.  Patrick  was  the  patron  saint  of  the  sea, 
and  Killip  was  a  Catholic  and  more  than  half 
an  Irishman. 

"St.  Patrick  be ,"  cried  Davy  Cain,  with  a 

scornful  laugh.  They  got  to  high  words,  and  at 
length  almost  to  blows. 

Old  Quilleash  had  been  at  the  tiller.  His  gris- 
ly face  had  grown  ghastly  again.  "Drop  it, 
men,"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  of  fear.  "Look  yan- 
der!    D'ye  see  what's  coming?" 

The  men  looked  towards  the  west.  'Phe  long, 
thin  cloud  which  Danny  knew  as  the  cat's-tail 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  185 

•\vas  scudciing  fast  in  the  line  of  their  star-board 
quarter. 

''^lake  all  snug,"  cried  Dav}\ 

A  storm  was  coming.  It  was  very  near;  in  ten 
minutes  it  was  upon  them.  It  was  a  terrific 
tempest,  and  they  knew  now  that  they  were  in 
the  down-stream. 

The  men  stared  once  more  into  each  others' 
faces.  Their  quips  were  gone;  their  hopeful 
spirits  had  broken  down. 

*'God,  it's  running  a  ten-knots'  tide,"  shouted 
Ouilleash. 

*''xA.nd  we're  driving  before  it — dead  on  for 
Peel,"  answered  Davy,  with  an  appalling  look 
of  fear  towards  the  west,  where  the  mnd  was 
seen  to  be  churning  the  long  waves  into  foam. 

Danny  saw^  it  all,  but  there  was  no  agony  in 
his  face  and  no  cr\^  of  dread  on  his  Hps.  'T  think 
at  whiles  I'd  like  to  die  in  a  big  sea  like  that." 
His  despair  was  courage  now. 


i86  SEE'8  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE   world's   want  IS  MEN. 

In  the  old  house  at  Balladhoo,  three  hearts 
newly  made  glad  had  still  one  painful  passage  to 
experience.  It  was  dusk.  By  the  fire  stood  Myl- 
rea  Balladhoo,  with  Mona  Cregeen  seated  be- 
side him.  Christian  had  stepped  to  the  door, 
and  now  returning  to  the  room  with  the  stranger 
previously  seen  in  liis  company,  he  said,  with 
averted  face,'  "This  is   the  man,  father." 

Balladhoo  neither  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  new- 
comer nor  shifted  his  gaze  from  the  fire.  His 
frame  trembled  perceptibly  as  he  said,  'T  know 
your  business,  sir,  and  it  shall  have  my  atten- 
tion." The  stranger  glanced  from  father  to  son. 
They  stood  apart  each  unable  to  meet  the  other's 
face.  Perhaps  there  is  no  more  touching  sight 
in  nature,  rightly  regarded,  than  an  old  man, 
and  to  the  pathos  incident  to  age  Balladhoo 
added  the  sorrow  of  a  wretched  and  shattered 
hope. 

''May  I  ask  if  this  deed  was  drawn  by  your  au- 
thority?" said  the  stranger.    He  stepped  up  to 


,^:HE':S  all  the   world  to  me.  iS7 

the  old  man,  and  put  the  document  into  his  Hst- 
less  hand.  Balladhoo  glanced  down  at  it,  but 
his  poor  blurred  eyes  saw  nothing. 

'*Yes,"  he  answered  promptly  enough,  but  in 
a  husky  voice.  Christian's  face  quivered,  and 
his  head  dropped  on  his  breast.  The  stranger 
looked  incredulous.  "It  is  quite  right  if  you 
say  so,"  he  answered,  with  a  cold  smile. 

Balladhoo  lifted  his  face.  It  was  seamed  with 
lines  of  pain,  and  told  of  a  terrible  struggle.  "I 
do  say  so,"  he  replied. 

His  fingers  crumpled  the  deed  as  he  spoke; 
but  his  head  was  erect,  and  truth  seemed  to  sit 
on  his  lips.  Christian  sat  down  and  buried  his 
eyes  in  his  hand. 

The  stranger  smiled  again  the  same  cold' smile. 
*The  mortgageor  wishes  to  withdraw'  the  mort- 
gage," he  said. 

"He  may  do  so — in  fifteen  days,''  answered 
Balladhoo. 

"That  will  suffice.  It  would  be  cniel  to  pro- 
long a  painful  inter\'iew." 

Then,  with  a  glance  towards  Christian,  as  he 
sat  convulsed  w'ith  distress  that  he  was  unable 
to  conceal,  the  stranger  added,  in  a  hard  tone, 

"Only,  the  mortgageor  came  to  have  reasons 
to  think  that  perhaps  the  deed  had  been  drawn 
without  your  knowledge." 

Balladhoo  handed  back  the  document  with  a 


i88  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

nerveless  hand.  He  looked  again  through  dim 
eyes  at  the  stranger,  and  said  quietly,  but  with 
an  awful  inward  effort,  "You  have  my  answer — 
I  knew  of  it." 

The  recording  angel  set  down  the  words  in  the 
Book  of  Life  to  the  old  man's  credit  in  Heaven. 
They  were  not  true. 

The  stranger  bowed  low  and  retired. 

Christian  leaped  up  and  took  his  father  by 
both  hands,  but  his  eyes  were  not  raised  to  the 
troubled  face. 

"This  is  worse  than  all,"  he  said,  "but  God 
knows  everything.  He  will  make  me  answer 
for  it.'^ 

"What  is  the  debt?"  asked  Balladhoo,  with  an 
effort  to  be  calm. 

"Money  squandered  in  England." 

The  old  man  shook  his  head  with  an  impa- 
tient gesture. 

"I  mean  how  much?" 

**A  thousand  pounds."    There  was  a  pause. 

"We  can  meet  it,"  said  Balladhoo;  "and  now, 
my  son,  cheer  up ;  set  your  face  the  right  way, 
and  His  serv^ant  shall  not  be  ashamed." 

Christian  strode  up  and  down  the  room.  His 
agitation  Avas  greater  than  before.  "I  feel  less 
than  a  man,"  he  said.  "Oh,  but  a  hidden  sin 
is  a  mean  thing,  father — a  dwarfing,  petrifying, 
corroding,  unmanly  thing.    And  to  think  that  I 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME,  ix<) 

could  descend  so  low  as  to  try  to  conceal  it — a 
part  of  it — by  consorting  with  a  gang  of  lawless 
fellows — by  a  vulgar  outrage  that  might  have 
ended  in  death  itself  but  that  the  hand  of  Heaven 
interposed!'^ 

*'You  are  not  the  first/'  answered  Balladhoo, 
"who  has  descended  from  deceit  to  the  margin 
of  crime;  but  it  isn't  for  me  to  judge  you.  Read 
your  misfortunes,  my  lad,  as  Heaven  writes 
them.  Are  they  not  warnings  against  the  want 
of  manliness?  No,  it's  not  for  me  to  say  it;  but 
if  there's  one  thing  truer  than  another,  it  is  that 
the  world  wants  men.  Clever  fellows,  good  fel- 
lows, ft  has  ever  had  in  abundance,  but  in  all 
ages  the  world's  great  want  has  been  men." 

Balladhoo  glanced  down  at  Mona.  Through- 
out this  inter\-iew  she  had  sat  with  her  eyes 
bent  on  her  lap.  The  old  man  touched  the  arm 
of  his  son  and  continued, 

"As  for  the  hand  of  Heaven,  it  has  worked 
throug"h  tlie  hand  of  this  brave  girl.  You  owe 
*her  your  life,   Christian." 

Then  the  young  man,  with  eyes  aflame, 
walked  to  ]Mona  and  lifted  her  into  his  arms. 
The  girl  looked  very  beautiful  in  her  confusion, 
and  while  she  sobbed  on  Christian's  breast,  and 
Balladhoo  looked  on  with  wondering  eyes, 
Cliristian  confessed  everything;  how,  in  effect, 
IMona  had  been  his  wife  for  six  years  past,  and 
little  Ruby  was  their  child. 


iQO  SEE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

It  was  a  staggering  blow.  But  w^hen  the  sur^ 
prise  of  it  was  past,  all  was  forgiven. 

"You  love  my  boy?"  said  Balladh'oo,  turning 
to  xvlona. 

The  girl  could  not  answer  in  words.  She  threw 
her  arms  around  the  old  man's  neck  and  he 
kissed  her.  Then  through  the  tears  that  had  gath- 
ered in  his  blurred  old  eyes  there  shot  a  merry 
gleam  as  he  said  above  the  girl's  hidden  face, 
*'Oh,  so  I've  got  to  be  happy  yet,  I  find." 

There  came  a  noise  of  people  entering  the 
house.  In  another  moment  Kerruish  Kinvig 
had  burst  in  w^th  one  of  the  Castle  Rushen  men 
behind  him. 

"Manxman-like,  he's  a  dog  after  the  fair,  and 
away  from  Peel  to-night,"  bawled  Kinvig,  indi- 
cating the  subject  of  his  inconsequent  remarks 
by  a  contemptuous  lurch  of  his  hand  over  his 
shoulder. 

"We  stayed  too  long  in  hiding,"  said  the  man, 
with  a  glance  of  self-justification. 

*'Of  course,"  shouted  Kinvig,  oblivious  of  the 
insinuation  against  his  own  leadership;  "and 
W' ho  hasn't  heard  that  the  crab  that  ]ics  always  in 
its  hole  is  never  fat?" 

"The  fisihing-boat  is  stiill  ait  'sea,  sir.  It's 
scarce  likely  that  the  men  will  come  back  to 
Peel,"  said  the  man,  addressing  Balladhoo. 

"Who  dreamed  that  they  would?"  cried  Kin- 
vig. "What  black  ever  stamped  on  his  own  foot?" 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  ^yORLD  TO  ME.  191 

''We're  trusting  you  think  we've  done  our 
best,  sir,"  continued  the  man,  ignoring  the  inter- 
ruptions. 

"Eaten  bread  is  quick  forgotten/'  sihouted 
Kinvig.  "What  you've  done  you've  done,  and 
there's  an  end  of  it,  and  it's  not  much  either;  and 
if  I  were  magistrate,  I'd  have  the  law  en  a  lot  of 
you  for  a  pack  of  incompetent  loblolly  boys. 
Wouldn't  you,  Christian?" 

"You  have  done  your  best,"  said  Balladhoo, 
and  the  man  left  them.  "As  for  you,  Kerruish," 
he  added,  "if  you'd  had  the  ill-luck  to  succeed, 
think  what  a  sad  dog  you  must  have  been  by 
this  time;  you  would  have  had  nothing  to  growl 
about." 

Christian  had  walked  to  the  window.  ''Hark,'' 
he  said,  turning  to  ]\Iona,  "  the  wind  is  rising. 
What  of  those  poor  fellows  outside?"  The  mel- 
ancholy sough  of  the  wind  could  be  'heard  above 
the  low  moan  of  the  distant  sea.  ]\lona  thought 
of  Danny,  and  the  tears  came  again  into  her 
eyes. 

It  was  time  for  the  girl  to  return  home.  Giris- 
tian  put  on  bis  hat  to  accompany  her,  and  when 
they  left  the  house  together  he  laughed,  dejected 
though  he  was,  at  the  bewildered  look  on  the 
face  of  Kerrush  Kinvig  as  he  glanced  in  stupid 
silence  from  Balladhoo  to  them,  and  from  them 
back  to  Balladhoo. 


192  SEE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME, 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  FAIRY   THAT   CAME   FOR  RUBY. 

The  night  was  dark,  and  the  wind  was  dhill 
outside,  but  the  hght  and  warmth  were  in  tAvo 
happy  hearts.  With  larms  entwined  and  clasped 
hands  they  Avalked  down  the  famiHar  road,  trans- 
figured now  into  strange  beauty  at  ever}'  step. 
A¥hen  two  souls  first  pour  out  their  flood  of  love, 
whatever  the  present  happiness,  it  is  the  un- 
conscious sense  of  a  glad  future  that  thrills  them. 
It  was  the  half-unconscious  sense  .of  a  sad  past 
shared  together  that  touched  these  two  to-night 

"I  feel  like  another  man,"  said  Christian;  "to 
have  the  weig^ht  of  these  six  years  of  disguise 
lifted  away  is  a  ncAv  birth." 

He  seemed  to  breathe  more  freely. 

"How  glad  I  am  it  is  gone,  this  haunting  se- 
cret," said  Mona,  with  a  sigh  of  relief;  but  sud- 
denly a  fresh  torment  suggested  itself.  "What 
will  people  say?"  she  asked. 

''Don't  think  of  that.  Let  people  say  what 
they  will.  In  these  relations  of  life  the  world  has 
always  covered  its  nakedness  in  the  nasty  rags  of 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  193 

its  old  conventions,  and  dubbed  its  clothes  mor- 
alit}^    We'll  not  heed  what  people  say,  Mona." 

''But  the  child?"  said  the  girl  with  some  tremor 
of  vodce.  Christian  answered  the  half-uttered 
question, 

*'Ruby  is  as  much  my  daughter  as  Rachel  was 
the  daughter  of  Laban,  and  you  are  even  now 
as  much  my  wife  as  she  was  the  wife  of  Jacob.*' 

Mona  glanced  up  into  his  face.  ''Can  this  be, 
Christian?''  she  thought. 

"Where  one  man  sets  (himself  apart  for  one 
woman,"  he  continued,  "there  is  true  marriage, 
whether  the  mystic  symbol  of  the  church  be  used 
or  not.  No;  I've  feared  the  world  too  long.  I 
mean  to  face  it  now." 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't  understand.  Christian," 
answered  Mona.  "But  surely  to  defy  the  world 
is  foolishness,  and  marriage  is  a  holy  thing." 

He  stopped,  and,  with  a  smile,  kissed  the  girl 
tenderly.  "Never  fear,  darling — that  shall  be 
made  as  the  world  wants  it.  I  was  thanking  of 
the  past  not  the  future.  And  if  ours  was  a  sin, 
it  was  one  of  passion  only,  and  we  whispered 
each  other — did  w^e  not? — that  He  who  gave 
the  love  would  forgive  its  transgression."  Then 
they  walked  on.  In  the  distance  the  hill  above 
glowed  red  through  the  darkness.  Danny's 
contrary  fire,  which  had  smouldered  all  day, 
showed  brightly  again. 


194     SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

"Oh,  how  glad  I  am  that  all  is  over,"  repeated 
the  girl,  creeping  closer  beneath  Christian's  arm. 
*'Yoii  said  toniglit  to  your  father  that  a  secret 
sin  is  a  corroding  thing.  How  truly  I've  felt  it 
so  when  I've  thought  of  my  own  poor  father. 
You  never  knew  him.  He  dded  before  you  came 
to  us.  He  was  a  good  simple  man,  and  loved  us, 
though  perhaps  he  left  us  poorer  than  we  mig^ht 
Bhave  been,  and  more  troubled  than  we  were  in 
the  old  days  at  Glen  Rushen." 

"No,  I  never  knew  him;  but  the  thought  of 
Jiim  has  stung  me  to  tlie  quick  when  I've  seen 
his  daughter  working  for  her  daily  bread.  It  has 
been  ithen  that  I've  felt  myself  the  meanest  of 
men." 

^'Christian,"  continued  Mona,  regardless  of 
the  initerruption,  *'have  you  ever  thought  that  the 
dead  are  links  that  connect  us  with  the  living?" 

"How?" 

"Well,  in  this  way.  From  our  kin  in  Heaven 
we  can  have  no  secrets ;  and  when  the  living  kin 
guess  our  hidden  thought,  our  secret  act,  per- 
haps it  has  been  our  dead  kin  who  have  whds- 
pered  iof  it." 

"That  is  a  strange  fancy,  Mona,  an  awful 
fancy.  Few  of  us  would  dare  to  have  secrets  if 
we  accepted  it." 

They  were  approaching  the  cottage,  and 
could  hear  a  merr}-  child-s  voice  singing.  "List- 


SEE'S  ALL  TEE  WORLD  TO  ME.  195 

en,"  said  IMona.  and  they  stopped.  Then  the 
girl's  head  dropped.  Tears  were  again  in  her 
eyes. 

"She's  been  sorrow  as  well  as  happiness  to 
you,  my  brave  !Mona/'  said  Christian.  And  he 
put  her  arms  about  'his  neck. 

The  girl  lifted  her  face  to  his  In  the  darkness. 
"That's  true,"  she  said.  "Ah,  how^  often  in  the 
early  days  did  I  gaze  into  the  face  of  m}-  father- 
less little  one,  and  feel  a  touch  of  avre  in  the 
presence  of  the  mute  soul  that  lay  behind  the 
speechless  baby  face,  and  wonder  if  some  power 
above  had  told  it  something  that  its  mother  must 
needs  hide  from  it,  and  if,  when  it  spoke,  it 
would  reproach  me  with  its  own  shame,  or  pity 
me  for  mine." 

Christian  smoothed  her  'hand  tenderly.  "If 
the  child  suffered,"  he  said,  "before  her  race  of 
life  began,  let  it  be  mine  henceforth  to  make  it 
up  to  her  with  all  that  love  can  yet  do." 

"And  w-hen  I  heard  its  cr\-,*'  said  ^lona,  "its 
strange,  pitiful  cr}-  as  it  awoke  from  that  mystery, 
a  baby's  troubled  dream,  and  looked  into  its  red, 
startled  eyes  and  into  its  little  face,  all  liquid 
grief,  and  saiH,  'It's  only  a  dream,  darling,'  the 
thoug'ht  has  sometimes  stolen  up  to  my  heart 
that  perhaps  some  evil  spirit  had  whispered  to  it 
the  stor}'  of  its  shame — for  what  else  had  it  to 
cry  about  so  bitterly?" 


196  SHE'8  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

Christian  kissed  her  again,  a  great  gulp  in  his 
throat  *'Yes,"  he  said,  "in  the  eyes  of  men  we 
may  have  wronged  the  cMld,  but  in  the  eternal 
world,  when  these  few  painful  years  are  as  a 
span,  s-he  will  be  ours  indeed,  and  God  will  not 
ask  by  right  of  what  symbol  we  claim  her/' 

They  had  walked  to  the  gate. 

"Wait!"  said  Mona,  and  ran  towards  the  door. 

Christian  thoug^ht  she  had  gone  to  prepare  her 
mother,  but  returning  in  an  instant,  and  on  tip- 
toe, with  the  light  of  laughter  struggling  through 
her  tears,  ^sihe  beckoned  him  to  follow  her,  with 
steakhy  tread.  Creeping  up  to  the  window,  she 
took  'his  hand  and  whispered,  "Look !" 

They  were  standing  in  the  darkness  and  cold, 
but  the  house  within  was  bright  this  winter's 
night,  with  one  little  human  flower  in  bloom. 
Ruby  had  dressed  the  kitchen  in  hibbin  and  hol- 
len,  and  had  scattered  wheaten  flour  over  the 
red  ^berries  to  resemble  snow.  She  was  stand- 
ing near  Mrs.  Crageen's  knee,  being  undressed 
for  bed.  Her  heart  had  leaped  all  day  at  the 
(thought  of  a  new  hat,  wlnich  she  w^as  to  v\^ear  for 
the  first  time  next  morning.  This  treasure  had 
I  been  hung  on  a  peg  over  the  plates  above  the 
'  dresser,  and  at  intervals  more  or  less  frequent 
Ruby  twisted  about  and  cocked  her  eye  up  at 
it.  It  'took  a  world  of  s-tolen  glances  to  grow 
faimiliar  with  the  infinite  splendor  of  its  bow  and 


SHE'S  ALL  TEE  WORLD  TO  ME,  197 

feather.  While  the  thread's  and  the  buttons 
were  ibeing  undone  Ruby  sang  and  gossiped. 
A  well-filled  water-<:rock  had  been  set  on  the 
table,  and,  touching  this,  the  little  one  said, 

"Do  the  fairies  bathe  in  winter?" 

"So  thevTe  saying,  my  veen,"  answered  ]\Irs. 
Cregeen. 

"Can  I  see  the  fairies  if  I  lie  awake  all  night? 
I'm  not  a  bdt  sleepy.  Can  I  see  them  all  in  their 
little  velvet  jackets — can  I?'' 

"No  no;  little  girls  must  go  to  bed." 

There  was  a  pretty  pretense  at  disappointment 

in  the  downward  cun^e  of  the  lip.    The  world 

had  no  real  sorrow  for  the  owner  of  that  miar- 

vellous  hat.    The  next  instant  the  child  sang — 

"I  rede  ye  beware  of  the  Carrasdoo  men 

As  ye  come  up  the  wold; 
I  rede  ye  beware  of  the  hunted  glen — " 

Ruby  interrupted  her  song  to  wriggle  out  of 
Mrs.  Cregeen's  hands,  pull  cfif  her  stocking,  and 
hang  it  on  one  of  the  knobs  of  the  dresser.  "I 
hope  it  will  be  the  Phynnodderee  that  comes  to- 
night," she  said. 

"Why  that  one?"  said  Mrs.  Cregeen,  smiling. 

"Because  Danny  says  that's  the  fairy  that 
loves  little  Manx  girls." 

"Danny  shouldn't  tell  you  such  foolish  old 
stories." 

"Are  they  stories?" 


198     SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

"Yes." 

"Oh!" 

Another  sly  glance  at  the  wonderful  hat  on  the 
peg  behind.    That  was  a  reality  at  all  events. 

"But  I'm  sure  a  good  fairy  will  come  for  me 
to-night,'^  insisted  Ruby. 

"Why  are  you  sure,  Ruby  veg?" 

"Because — ^because  I  am." 

Ohristian  tightened  his  grasp  of  Mona's  hand. 

At  that  moment  a  gust  of  wind  passed  round 
the  house.  Mona  remembered  that  to-night 
she  was  standing  with  Christian  on  the  spot 
where  last  night  she  had  parted  with  Danny. 

"Listen"  said  Mrs.  Cregeen  to  the  child. 
"Pity  the  poor  sailors  at  sea." 

"Didn't  Mona  say  Danny  was  at  sea?" 

"Yes,  ^he  was  saying  so." 

Then  the  little  one  sang — 

In  Jorby  Curragh'  they  dwell  alone 
By  dark  peat-bogs  where  the  willows  moan 
Down  in  a  gloomy  and  lonely  glen — " 

"Mammy,  had  Danny  any  father?" 

"Everybody  had  a  father,  my  veen." 

"Had  Ruby  a  father?" 

"Hush,  Ruby  veg!" 

Mona's  hand  unconsciously  pressed  the  hand 
of  Christian.  "Oh,"  she  muttered,  and  crept 
closer  to  his  breast.  Christian's  bowels  yearned 
for  the  child. 


SHE'^  ALL  THE  WuRLD  1  U  ME,  igg 

The  silvery  voice  was  singing  again — 

"Who  has  not  heard  of  Adair,  the  youth? 
Who  does  not  kno^'  that  his  soul  was  truth? 
Woe  is  me,  how  smoothl^^  they  speak, 
And  Adair  was  brave,  and  a  man,  but  weak." 

"I  am  quite  sure  a  good  fairy  is  coming,''  said 
Ruby,  cocking  her  eye  aslant  at  that  peg  on  the 
dresser. 

Christian  could  bear  it  no  longer.  He  flung 
open  the  door,  and  snatched  up  the  darling  in 
his  arms. 

An  hour  later  he  and  Mona  came  out  again 
into  the  night,  leaving  the  little  one  with  laugh- 
ing, wondering,  wakeful  eyes  in  bed,  and  Mrs. 
Cregeen  sitting  before  the  fire  with  soonething 
like  happiness  in  her  usually  mournful  face. 

They  took  the  road  towards  the  town.  They 
had  no  errand  there,  but  the  restless,  tumultuous 
joy  of  this  night  would  not  leave  them  a  mo- 
ment's peace. 

As  they  passed  through  the  Market-place 
they  saw  that  the  church  \\-indows  were  lit  up. 
The  bells  were  ringing.  Numbers  of  young 
people  were  thronging  in  at  the  gates.  But  the 
parson  was  co-ming  out  of  them.  There  was  no 
pleasant  expression  on  his  face  as  he  beheld  the 
throngs  that  sought  admission.  It  was  Oiel  \'er- 
ree,  the  Eve  of  Mary.  The  bells  were  ringing 
for  the  only  service  in  the  year  at  Avhich  not  the 


200     SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

parson  but  the  parishioners  presided.  It  was  an 
old  Manx  custom,  that  after  prayers  on  Christ-^ 
mas-eve  the  church  should  be  given  up  to  the 
people  for  the  singing  of  their  native  carols. 
Prayers  were  now  over,  and  on  his  way  through 
the  Market-place  the  parson  encountered  Tom- 
my-Bill-beg among  the  others  who  were  walking 
towards  the  church.  He  stopped  the  harbor- 
master, and  said,  "Mind  you  see  that  all  is  done 
in  decency  and  order,  and  that  you  close  my 
church  before  midnight." 

*'Aw,  but  the  church  is  the  people's,  Tm  think- 
in',"  said  Tommy-Bill-beg,  with  a  deprecating 
shake  of  his  wise  head. 

*The  people  are  as  ignorant  as  goats,"  said 
the  parson  angrily. 

"Aw,  well,  and  you're  the  shepherd,  so  just 
make  sheeps  of  them,"  answered  Tommy,  and 
passed  on. 

Laughing  at  the  rejoinder.  Christian  and 
'Mona  went  by  the  church,  and,  readiing  the 
quay,  they  croissed  the  bridge  at  the  top  of  the 
harbor.  Then,  hand  in  hand,  they  walked  under 
the  Horse  Hill,  and,  without  thinking  what  di- 
rection they  took,  they  turned  up  the  path  that 
led  towards  the  cottage  in  the  old  quarry. 

Half  the  hill-side  seemed  to  be  ablaze.  Dan- 
ny's fire  over  tlie  Poolvash  had  spread  north  by 
many  hundred  yards.    The  wind  was  now  blow- 


'SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  2ot 

ing  strongly  from  the  sea,  and  fanned  it  into 
flame.  The  castle  could  be  seen  by  its  lig-ht 
from  the  black  rocks  fringed  about  with  foam 
to  the  top  of  Fennella's  Tower. 

When  they  came  abreast  of  the  cottage  they 
saw  that  a  dim  light  burned  in  one  window. 
They  stepped  up  and  looked  into  the  house.  On 
a  bed,  covered  by  a  white  sheet,  lay  all  that  re- 
mfained  of  Kisseok,  An  old  woman,  set  to 
watch  the  body,  sat  knitting  beside  it. 

The  deeip  roar  of  the  sea  was  all  that  could  be 
heard  there  above  the  moan  of  the  wind. 


kiHf/S  ALL  TEE  WORLD  TO  ME. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

OIEL   VERKEE. 

On  this  occasion,  as  on  all  similar  occasions 
for  the  last  thirty  years,  Tonimy-Bill-beg,the  har- 
bor-master, and  Jemmy  Quark  Balladhoo  had 
been  each  to  contribute  towards  the  curious 
Manx  ritual  of  carol  or  carval  singing.  Great 
had  hitherto  been  the  rivalry  between  these  mu- 
sical celebrities.  But  word  had  gone  around  the 
town  that  to-night  their  efforts  were  to  be  com- 
bined in  a  carol  which  they  w-ere  to  sing  to- 
gether. A  young  wag  had  effected  this  extraor- 
dinary combination  by  a  plot  w^iich  was  expect- 
ed to  add  largely  to  the  amusement  of  the  list- 
eners. 

Tommy-Bill-beg,  as  was  well  known,  could 
not  read  a  syllable,  yet  he  would  never  sing  his 
carol  withotit  having  the  printed  copy  of  it  In 
his  hand.  Suah  curious  vanity  had  long  been  a 
cause  of  merriment,  and  now  some  capital  was  to 
be  made  out  of  it.  Jemmy  Quark  Balladhoo, 
on  the  other  hand,  could  read,  but  he  resembled 
Tommy-Bill-beg  in  being  almost   stone-deaf. 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  203 

Each  could  hear  hinrnself  sing,  but  neither  could 
hear  another. 

And  now  for  the  plot.  Young  Mr.  Wag  had 
called  on  the  harbor-master  that  morning  at  his 
ivy  cottage,  and  "Tommy,''  said  he,  *'it's  mortal 
strange  the  way  a  man  of  your  common-sense 
can't  see  that  you'd  wallop  that  squeaking  ould 
Jemmy  Balladhoo  in  a  jiffy  if  you'r  only  con- 
sent to  sing  a  ballad  along  with  him.  Bless  me, 
it's  then  they'd  be  seeing  what  a  weak,  ould, 
cracked  pot  of  a  voice  is  at  him." 

Tommy-Bill-beg's  face  began  to  wear  a  smile 
of  benevolent  condescension.  Observing  his 
advantage,  the  young  rascal  continued,  '*Do  it 
at  the  Oiel  Verree  to-night,  Tommy.  He'll  sing 
his  treble,  and  you'll  sing  seconds  to  him." 

It  was  an  unlucky  remark.  The  harbor-mas- 
ter frowned  with  the  austerity  of  a  Malvolio. 
*"Me  sing  seconds  to  the  craythur?    Xo;  never !'^ 

It  was  explained  to  Tommy-Bill-beg,  with  a 
world  of  abject  apology,  that  there  was  a  sense 
in  which  seconds  meant  firsts.  The  harbor-mas- 
ter was  mollified,  and  at  length  consented  to  the 
proposal;  but  with  one  idea  clearly  impressed 
upon  his  mind,  namely,  that  if  he  was  to  sing  a 
carol  with  Jemmy  Balladhoo,  he  must  take  good 
care  to  sing  his  loudest  in  order  to  drown  at 
once  'tlie  voice  of  his  rival,  and  the  bare  notiop 


204  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME, 

tliat  it  was  he  who  was  singing  seconds  to  such 
a  poor  creature  as  that. 

Then  Mr.  Wag  walked  up  the  hill  to  Ballad- 
hoo,  and  "J^^^y/'  said  he,  "it's  mortal  strange 
the  way  a  man  of  your  common-sense  can't  see 
that  you'd  wallop  that  squeaking  ould  Tommy- 
Bill-beg  in  a  jiffy  if  you'd  only  consent  to  sing  a 
ballad  along  ivith  him.  Do  dt  at  the  Oiel  Verre 
to-night,  Jemmy,  and  bless  me!  that's  the  when 
they'll  be  seeing  what  a  weak,  ould  cracked-pot 
of  a  voice  is  at  the  craythur." 

The  gardener  of  Balladhoo  fell  an  easier  prey 
to  the  plot  than  the  harbor-master,  and  a  carol 
was  selected.  It  w^as  to^  be  the  ancient  carol  of 
the  bad  women  mentioned  in  the  Bible  as  hav- 
ing (from  Eve  downward)  brought  evil  on  man- 
kind. This  was  accounted  an  appropriate  ditty 
for  these  notaible  illustrations  of  bacRelordom. 

Now,  Tommy-Bill-beg  always  kept  hrs  carols 
where  Danny  saw  them — ^pinned  lagainst  the 
walls  of  his  cottage.  The  **Bad  Women"  was 
the  carol  which  was  pinned  above  the  mantel- 
piece. It  resembled  all  the  others  in  being  *vom, 
crumpled,  and  dirt}^;  but  Tommy  knew  it  by  its 
locality,  and  could^istinguish  every  other  by  its 
position. 

Young  Mr.  Wag  had  somehow  got  what  he 
called  a  "skute"  intO'  this  literary  mystery;  so, 
after  arranging  with  Jemmy  Quark,  he  watched 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  205 

Tonimy-Bill-beg  out  of  his  house,  crept  into  it 
unobserved,  took  down  the  carol  pinned  above 
the  mantel-piece,  and  fixed  up  another  in  place 
of  it  from  a  different  part  of  the  room.  The  sub- 
stituted carol  'liappened,  oddly  enoug-h,  to  be  a 
second  copy  of  the  same  carol  on  ''Bad  Women," 
^^-ith  this  radical  difference:  that  the  one  taken 
down  was  the  version  of  the  carol  in  English, 
and  the  one  put  up  was  the  version  in  jManx. 

The  bells  began  to  ring,  and  Tommy-Bill-beg 
donned  his  best  petticoat  and  monkey-jacket,  put 
the  carol  in  his  pocket,  and  went  off  to  church. 

Prayers  had  been  said  that  night  to  a  thin 
congregation,  but  no  sooner  were  they  done, 
and  the  parson  had  prepared  to  leave,  than 
great  crowds  of  young  m-en  and  maidens  trooped 
down  the  aisles.  The  young  women  went  up  into 
•the  galler}-,  and  from  that  elevation  s/hot  down 
at  their  bachelor  friends  large  handfuls  of  peas; 
but  to  what  ancient  spirit  of  usage,  beyond  the 
ancient  spirit  of  mischief,  the  strange  practice 
was  due  must  be  left  as  a  solemn  problem  to  the 
learned  and  curious  antiquaries. 

Nearly  everybody  carried  a  candle,  the  can- 
dles of  the  young  women  being  usually  adorned 
Avith  a  red  ribbon  and  rosette.  The  brilliance  of 
illumination  was  such  as  the  dusky  old  church 
enjoyed  only  once  a  year. 

When  everything  was  understood  to  be  ready. 


2o6  SUE'S  ALL  TEE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

and  the  parish  clerk  had  taken  his  station  inside 
the  cammumon-rail,  the  business  of  the  Oiel 
Verree  began.  First  one  man  got  up  and  sang  a 
carol  in  English ;  then  another  sang  a  Manx  car- 
ol. The  latter  depicted  the  physical  sufferings 
of  Ghrist,  and  described,  with  an  intensity  of 
"naturalism"  even  yet  unknovm  to  modern  lit- 
erature, how  the  "skin  was  torn  off  his  shoulder- 
blade.'^  But  the  great  event  of  the  night  was 
to  be  the  carol  sung  by  the  sworn  enemies,  Toni- 
my-Bill-beg  and  Jemmy  Quark  Balladhoo. 

At  last  their 'time  came.  They  rose  from  op- 
posite sides  of  the  church,  eyed  eaoh  other  with 
severe  looks,  stepped  out  of  their  pews,  and 
walked  down  the  aisle  to  the  door  of  the  porch. 
Then  they  turned  about  in  silence,  and,  standing 
side  by  side,  faced  the  communion. 

The  whispering  in  the  gallery  and  tittering  in 
the  body  were  audible  to  all  except  the  persons 
who  were  the  occasion  of  them. 

"Hush,  hush,  ma  veen,  that's  him,  that's  him." 
"Bless  me,  look  at  Tommmy-Bill-beg  and  the 
petticoat,  and  the  handkercher  pimiin'  round 
'his  throat!"  "Aw,  dear,  it's  what  he's  used  of.'" 
"A  reg'lar  Punch-and-Judy."  "Hush,  man,  let 
4:hem  make  a  start  for  all." 

The  carol  they  were  about  to  sing-  contained 
som.e  thirty  verses.  It  was  an  ancient  usage  that 
after  each  verse  the  carol-singers  should  take  a 


SHE'S  ALL  TtiE  WORLD  TO  ME.  207 

long  stride  together  towards  the  communion. 
By  the  time  the  carol  came  to  an  end  they  must 
therefore  be  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  church. 
What  this  meant  must  also  be  left  to  the  vener- 
able doctors  aforesaid. 

There  was  now  a  swblime  scorn  printed  on  the 
features  of  Jemmy  Quark,  As  for  Tommy-Bill- 
beg,  he  looked  at  this  last  moment  like  a  man 
who  was  rather  sorry  than  otherwise  for  his  rash 
adversary.  ''The  rermantick  they're  looking/' 
whispered  one  expectant  maiden  in  the  gallery 
to  a  giggling  companion  beside  her. 

Expectation  was  at  its  highest  when  Tommy- 
Bill-beg  thrust  "his  hand  into  the  pocket  of  his 
monkey-jacket  and  brought  out  a  printed  copy 
of  the  carol.  Tommy  unfolded  it,  glanced  at  it 
with  the  air  of  a  conductor  taking  a  final  look 
at  hi's  score,  nodded  his  head  as  if  in  approval, 
and  then,  with  a  mngnanimous  gesture,  held  it 
between  himself  and  Jemmy  Quark.  Jemmy  in 
turn  glanced  at  it,  glanced  again,  glanced  a  third 
time  at  the  paper,  and  then  up  into  the  face  of 
Tommy-Bill-beg. 

Anxiety  was  now  on  jtip-toe.  "Hush,  d'ye 
hear,  hush,  or  it's  spoiling  all  you'll  be,  for  sure." 

At  the  moment  when  Jemmy  Quark  glanced 
into  the  face  of  Tommy-Bill-beg  ttiere  was  a 
smile  on  that  benign  countenance.  Jemmy  mis- 
took that  smile.     He  imagined  he  saw  a  trick. 


2o8  SUE'S  ALL  TEE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

Jemmy  could  read,  and  iiQ  perceived  tliat  the 
carol  which  the  harbor-master  held  out  to  him 
was  nqt  the  canol  he,  had  been  told  to  prepare  for. 
They  were,  by  arrangement,  to  have  sung-  the 
Eaiglish  version* pf  "Bad  Women."  This  was  the 
Manx  version,  and  it  was  always  sung  to  a  dif- 
ferent metre.  Ha!  Jemmy  understood  dt  all! 
This  rascally  Tommy-Bill-beg  was  trying  to  ex- 
,pose  'him.  The  monster  wanted  to  show  that 
ihe.  Jemmy  Quark  Balladhoo,  could  only  sing 
one  carol,  but  Jemmy  w^ould  be  even  with  him. 
He  could  sing  this  Manx  version  and  he  would. 
It  was  now  Jemmy's  turn  to  smile. 

"Aw,  look  at  them — the  pair  of  them — grin- 
nin'  together  like  the  two  ould  gurgoils  on  the 
steeple." 

At  a  motion  of  the  harbor-masters  hand,  in- 
tended to  beat  the  time,  the  singers  began. 
Tommy-Bill-beg  sang  the  carol  agreed  upon — ■ 
the  English  version  of  "Bad  Women."  Jemmy 
Quark  sang  the  carol  of  which  they  held  the 
printed  copy  in  their  hands — the  Manx  version 
of  "Bad  Women."  Nether  'heard  the  othfer. 
Each  bawled  at  the  utmost  reach  of  his  lung 
pcHvver.  To  one  tune  Tommy-Bill-beg  sang — 
"Thus  from  the  days'  oif  Adairi) 
Her  mischief  you  may  trace," 

And  to  another  tune  Jemmy  Quark  sang — 

"She  ish  va'n  voir  ain  ooilley 
Son  v'ee  da  Adam  ben." 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  209 

What  laug-hter  ensued!  Hoav  tlie  young 
women  in  the  gallery  lay  back  in  their  seats  with 
shrieks  of  hysteria !  How  the  young  fellows  in 
the  body  made  the  sacred  edifice  ring  with 
guff  as?  But  the  singers — Tommy  especially — 
with  eyes  steadfastly  fixed  on  the  paper,  heard 
nothing  but  each  his  own  voice.  Thus  they  sang 
on. 

They  had  got  through  three  verses,  and  made 
three  strides  towards  the  communion,  when  sud- 
denly there  was  heard  above  the  uproar  a  dismal 
and  tmearthly  cry,  and  all  at  once  the  laughter 
and  shouting  of  the  people  ceased.  Every  face 
turned  to  the  porch. 

Bareheaded,  dripping  wet  from  his  matted 
hair  to?  his  feet,  a  ghastly  light  in  his  sunken  eyes, 
with  wasted  cheeks  and  panting  breath,  Danny 
Fayle  stood  there,  one  hand  on  the  door-jamb, 
the  other  holding  a  coil  of  rope. 

"The  Ben-my-Chree  is  on  the  rocks!''  he  cried 
and  was  gone  in  an  instant. 

If  a  spectre  "had  appeared  the  consternation 
had  scarcely  been  greater.  But  the  next  moment 
recovering  from  their  surprise,  the  people  on 
all  sides  leaped  up  and  rushed  out  of  the  church. 
In  two  minutes  not  a  soul  was  left  except  Tom- 
my-Bill-beg and  Jemmy  Quark  Balladhoo,  who 
still  sang  lustily,  oblivious  of  the  fact  that  they 
had  no  audience. 


2IC  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  MtL 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

ON   THE   MOAE  BEEF. 

This  is  what  had  ^happened. 

When  Christiain,  and  Mona  turnea  away  irom 
the  house  in  the  quarry,  with  its  dead  man  and 
solitary  watcher,  they  thoug'ht  they  descried  a 
sail  far  out  in  the  'black  void  beyond  the  line  of 
wild  sea  that  was  lit  up  by  the  burning  gorse. 

*'Let^s  hope  they're  not  in  the  down-stream, 
poor  fellows,  whoever  they  are,"  said  Christian. 
'*In  a  wind  like  this  it  would  be  certain  to  drive 
them  dead  on  to  the  Moar  Reef." 

Then  they  continued  their  walk,  and  passed 
the  open  shaft  in  which  Christian  had  spent  his 
night  of  peril  and  agony.  There  was  so  much 
to  say  that  neither  spoke  except  at  long  intervals. 
There  was  so  much  else  to  feel  that  neither  felt 
w^eary,  nor  remembered  the  many  hours  in 
\Vhich  both  had  been  strangers  to  sleep.  They 
miglht  ^have  wandered  on — two  dairk  figures 
agaiinst  the  red  glow  of  the  great  fire — until  the 
steep  declivities  of  the  Poolvash  had  stopped 
them,  but  that  the  wind  rose  higher  every  mo- 


SHE' 8  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  211 

ment,  and  threatened  to  sweep  them  from  their 
feet. 

''Listen  how  the  sea  thunders/"  said  Christian: 
and^justthen  a  cloud-of  hissing  spray  came  up  to 
them,  high  as  they  were,  from  the  boihng  surge 
below. 

They  turned  back,  laughing  as  every  gust  tore 
them  a  little  apart. 

Before  they  passed  the  cottage  on  their  return 
they  were  conscious  of  faint  cries  from  beneath. 

"Hark,-'  said  Mona,  ''surely  they  were  voices 
from  the  sea." 

There  could  be  no  doubt  of  it  now.  Several, 
voices  were  calling  in  accents  of  fearful  agony, 
and  above  the  rest  was  one  wild,  thin  shriek.  It 
seemed  to  echo  in  the  lowering  dome  of  the  emp- 
ty sky — was  such  a  cry  of  distress  as  might  haunt 
one's  dreams  for  years. 

"It^s  from  the  boat  we  saw,  and  they're  on  the 
Moar  Reef,  too  surely,"  said  Christian.  Then 
they  hastened  on. 

When  they  reached  the  shore  they  found  the 
sea  running  high.  A  long  ground-swell  was 
breaking  in  the  narrow  strait  between  the  main- 
land and  the  Castle  Isle.  Flakes  of  sea-foam 
were  fl>'ing  around  them.  The  waves  were 
scooping  up  the  shingle  and  flinging  it  through 
the  air  like  sleet. 

The  cries  were  louder  here  than  above.     By 


212     SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

the  light  of  Danny's  fire  it  was  but  too  easy  to 
see  from  whence  they  came.  Jammed  between 
two  huge  protruding  horns  of  rock  a  fishing- 
boat  was  laboring  hard  in  the  heavy  sea,  rearing 
w^ith  a  creak  on  the  great  waves,  and  plunging 
down  with  a  crash  and  groan  on  the  sharp  teeth 
of  the  shoal  beneath  her. 

The  men  on  deck  could  be  seen  hacking  at  the 
mast  to  lighten  her,  and  cutting  away  the  gun- 
wale forward  to  ease  her  off  the  horns  that  held 
her  like  a  vise.  But  every  fresh  wave  behind 
drove  her  head  deeper  into  the  cleft.  The  men 
shouted  in  mingled  rage  and  fear.  They  tried  to 
leap  onto  the  rocks,  but  the  weight  of  seas  break- 
ing on  them  made  this  a  perilous  adventure, 
even  if  the  pitching  of  the  boat  left  it  possible. 

Christian  took  in  the  situation  in  an  instant. 

Two  or  three  small  boats  were  lying  high  and 
dry  on  the  shore.  He  ran  to  them,  cut  awa}' 
their  cables,  tied  them  together  in  strong  knots> 
slung  one  end  around  his  waist  and  passed  the 
other  about  an  old  spar  that  lay  close  by. 

"They're  too  near  for  us  to  stand  and  see 
them  die,"  he  shouted  excitedly  above  the  tu- 
mult of  the  wind. 

Aldna  clung  to  him  for  an  Instant.  Then  she 
loosed  him  with  a  fervent  kiss. 

In  another  moment  he  had  plunged  into  the 
water. 


SEE'S  ALL  THE  VORLD  TO  ME,  213 

The  strait  was  ver}^  marrow — sixty  feet  at 
most  from  the  shore  to  the  rocks.  Yet  what  a 
toilsome  journey  to  the  man  who  was  wading 
ofif  with  the  rope.  The  tide  was  flowing  and 
near  the  top.  It  neA'er  rose  higher  than  four  or 
fiVe  feet  in  this  cliannel.  A  man  might  cress  it 
if  the  swell  did  not  sweep  him  back. 

ITirougli  the  boiling  surf,  piercingly  cold. 
Christian  struggled  bravely.  He  was  young 
and  strong.  He  reached  the  boat  at  last.  It  was 
prancing  like  an  unbroken  horse.  But  waiting 
for  a  receding  wave,  he  rushed  in,  laid  firm,  hold 
of  the  first  man  at  hand,  and  carried  him  Back 
to  the  shore.  The  man  had  laid  in  his  arms  a 
dead  weight.    Was  he  dead  indeed? 

Mona  stooped  and  looked  into  his  face.  "It 
is  Danny  Fayle,"  she  cried. 

But  Danny  was  not  dead.  He  recovered  con- 
sciousness, and  staggered  to  his  feet. 

Loud  and  angry  cries  were  now  coming  from 
the  boat.  ]\Iingled  with  the  curses  of  rage  there 
came  the  words,  "Why  didn't  you  give  us  the 
rope?" 

Christian  shouted  that  he  was  coming  bacTc 
with  it.  Then,  watching  again  for  an  ebbing 
wave,  he  plunged  off  afresh.  He  reached  the 
boat  quicker  this  time.  Being  pulled  aboard, 
he  unlashed  the  rope  and  strapped  it  to  the  cap- 
stan.   Then  one  of  the  men — it  was  old  Quill- 


214  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

eash — dropped  over  the  side,  and  drew  himself 
hand-over-hand  through  the  water. 

But  the  rope  streached  and  creaked  at  the  rol- 
ling of  the  boat.  The  spar  to  which  the  end 
ashore  was  strapped  budged  not  an  inch.  Mona 
saw  the  danger  too  late.  Before  she  could  ease, 
the  rope  it  snapped. 

Now  Christian  added  one  more  to  the  number 
of  those  on  the  boait! 

Old  Billy,  safe  on  shore,  sat  down  on  the  shin- 
gle and  sobbed,  terror-stricken  and  helpless. 
Thank  God,  the  poor  despised  Danny  had  his 
wits  a.bout  him.  He  saw  what  had  happened, 
and  ran  for  another  rope.  Flying  into  town,  he 
shouted,  "Help,  help!''  But  all  Peel  seemed  to 
be  at  the  '^carvels."  He  ran  to  the  church. 
Screams  of  laughter  and  the  tumult  of  noisy 
singing  came  out  into  the  darkness.  Scarce 
knowing  what  he  did,  he  burst  open  the  door, 
and  cried,  in  a  piercing  voice,  'The  Ben-my- 
Chree  is  on  the  rocks."  Then  with  the  new  rope 
in  his  hands  he  fled  away  to  the  shore. 

When  Danny  got  back  a  great  multitude  was 
at  his  heels.  Old  Quilleash  still  sat  wailing  and 
helpless.  Mona  ran  up  and  down  the  shore  in 
an  agony  of  suspense.  The  lad  looked  at  nei- 
ther. The  hill-side  of  fire  behind  them  showed 
but  too  clearly  what  had  occurred.  Chilled  to 
the  bone  by  the  raw  winter  wind,  four  of  the 


SHE'S  ALL  THE   WORLD  TO  ME,  215 

men  had  dropped  overboard.  A  fifth  had  leaped 
into  the  water,  and  after  a  fearful  struggle  iov 
life  had  been  lifted  ofif  his  feet  by  the  breakers 
and  broken  on  the  rocks. 

He  was  seen  no  more.  Only  two  remained 
on  the  deck,  and  one  of  the  two  was  Christian. 
He  could  be  seen  clinging  to  a  bowsprit,  which 
was  shipped.  The  dingy  had  been  torn  from  the 
tngger,  and  thrown  by  the  rising  tide  high  and 
dry  on  the  shingle.  Danny  pushed  it  to  the 
water's  edge,  jumped  in,  strapped  one  end  of 
the  new  rope  about  his  body,  threw  the  other  to 
a  group  of  men  on  the  shore,  and  looked  round 
for  assistance.  None  stepped  out.  Many  fell 
back.  **It's  no  use  throwing  more  lives  awav," 
muttered  one.  "They're  past  saving,"  said  an- 
other. Women  clung  to  their  husbands  and 
would  not  let  them  stir.  Other  Ayom.en,  the 
wives  of  men  who  had  been  on  the  boat,  cried 
"Help."  Little  children,  crouching  together 
with  fear  and  cold,  wept  piteously. 

Danny  pushed  ofif  his  boat,  but  in  an  instant 
it  was  lifted  on  to  the  top  of  a  snow-ca-pped  bil- 
low and  pitched  ashore.  Danny  himself  was 
thrown  out  on  the  shingle.  "Xo  use,  man,^' 
shouted  many  voices,  and  the  lad  was  compelled 
to  desist. 

The  wind  clamored  louder  every  minute. 
Timbers  cut  away   from  the   fishing-boat  and 


2i6  SHE'S  ALL  THE  ^YORLD  TO  ME. 

were  swept  up  with  every  wave.  The  surf 
around  the  rocks  was  hke  snow.  The  water 
was  beaten  into  seething  foam  around  the  boat 
also;  between  the  billows  the  long  swell  was  red 
with  the  reflection  of  the  fire,  but  the  sea  was 
black  as  ink  beyond  the  line  of  the  Castle  Isle, 
save  where,  at  the  farthest  line  of  wave  and  sky, 
a  streak  of  ashen  light  shone  in  the  darkness. 

Danny  had  coiled  the  rope  from  end  to  end 
around  his  waist.  Then  lie  stood  and  waited. 
He  knew  that  the  tide  must  soon  turn.  He 
knew  too  that,  having  once  begun  to  ebb,  it 
would  flow  out  at  this  point  as  fast  a  horse 
might  gallop.  But  low  water  never  left  those 
rocks  dry  beitween  which  the  fishing  boat  was 
jammed.  The  men  aboard  of  her  would  still 
need  succor.  But  the  help  might  then  come 
to  them  from  the  castle  side  of  the  channel. 

The  crowd  knew  his  purpose,  and  laughed 
at  it.  One  grisled  old  fisherman  took  Danny  by 
the  arm,  and  would  have  held  him.  But  at  the 
first  glimpse  of  the  reef  that  ran  across  the  high- 
est aud  narrowest  point  of  the  strait,  the  lad 
shook  himself  free,  and  bounded  across  to  the 
Castle  Isle. 

''Brave  Danny,''  said  ]\Iona  in  a  deep  whisper. 

"Brave?  Is  it  brave?  Aw,  well,  it's  mad  I'm 
calling  it,"  said  the  old  salt. 

There  is  a  steep  pathway  under  the  east  wall 


SHE'.S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  }fE.  217 

of  the  castle.  It  runs  up  from  the  shore  to  a 
great  height  above  the  water.  It  is  narrow 
enough  to  be  called  a  ledge,  and  the  rocks  be- 
neath it  fall  well-nigh  precipitously.  Dannv 
ran  along  this  path  until  he  came  to  the  square 
turret  whose  truncated  shaft  stands  on  the 
south-east  corner  of  the  castle.  While  he  was 
under  the  shelter  of  the  walls  the  wind  did  not 
touch  him,  but  when  he  reached  the  east  angle 
a  fierce  gust  from  the  west  threatened  to  fling 
him  over  into  the  sea.  He  tried  to  round  the 
corner  and  could  not.  The  wind  filled  his  jersey 
like  a  sail.  He  took  the  jersey  off  and  threw  it 
aside.  Then,  on  hands  and  knees,  he  crawled 
round  inch  by  inch  clinging  to  the  stones  of  the 
turret  and  the  few  tussacs  of  long  grass  that 
grew  between  them. 

Every  movement  he  made  could  be  watched 
from  the  opposite  side  of  the  channel.  The 
light  of  the  gorse  fire  over  the  Poolvash  fell  full 
upon  him,  and  lit  up  the  entire  castle  and  rocks 
and  the  shuddering  boat  beneath  with  an  eerie 
brilliance.  The  townspeople  were  congregated 
by  thousands  on  the  Horse  Hill  and  the  shore  of 
the  main-land.  "Whose  yonder  madman?" 
cried  one.  "Danny  Fayle.''  answered  another. 
"No,  not  Danny,  the  gawk?"  "Aw,  yes,  though, 
Danny,  the  gawk."  Kerruish  Kinvig  was  there 
striding  up  and  down,  and  shouting  like  thunder 


2i8  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME, 

itself  above  the  tumult  of  the  wind,  "Clear  the 
road.  Stand  back,  the  ruck  of  you."  There  was 
nothing  else  that  Kinvig  could  do.  Mylrea  Bal- 
ladilioo  had  been  sent  for.  He  came  and  sat 
down  on  the  spar  to  which  Christian  had 
strapped  the  rope.  The  -broken  piece  still  hung 
to  it,  Mona  stood  beside  him,  and  spoke  to  him 
at  intervals.  He  answered  nothing,  but  stared 
vacantly  before  him. 

The  people  held  their  breath  as  Danny  round- 
ed the  turret,  expecting  every  instant  to  see 
him  lifted  fro^m  the  ledge  and  hurled  into  the  surf 
beneath.  When  he  had  cleared  the  corner,  and 
stood  full  in  the  wind  on  the  south  side  of  the 
castle,  directly  above  the  two  protruding  rocks 
that  held  the  fishing  boat  in  their  grip.  The 
crowds  ruched  down  the  shore  and  along  the  top 
of  the  Contrary  Head  to  keep  him  in  view. 
What  other  mad  act  would  the  lad  attempt? 

"He'll  go  round  to  the  west,  and  come  back 
on  the  shingle." 

"Not  him,  man;  the  shore  there  is  in  six  feet 
of  water." 

Danny  emerged  presently.  He  was  seen  to  tie 
one  end  of  his  rope  through  a  hole  in  the  old 
castle  wall  to  a  huge  stone  built  into  it.  The 
other  end  was  still  about  his  waist.  "He's  going 
down  the  rocks  to  the  boat."    "Gerr  out  of  that. 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  Ji±>.  219 

He'd  be  cut  in  pieces."     "Aw,  dear,  the  poor 
boy's  not  mad  enough  for  that,  anyway." 

But  Danny  was  going  down  the  rocks.  Sharp 
as  needles  with  their  thousand  teeth  turned  up- 
ward, slippery  and  icy  cold,  Danny  set  his  foot 
on  them.  He  began  his  descent  with  his  back  to 
the  sea.  Clouds  of  spray  rose  from  every  third 
wave  and  hid  from  the  people.  But  he  was  seen 
to  be  going  down  foot  after  foot.  What  had 
seemed  like  madness  before  began  to  look  like 
courage  now  that  success  appeared  possible.  It 
was  neither — it  was  despair.  "Aw,  beautiful!" 
"Beautiful,  extraordinary!"  "It's  the  young 
Masther  Christian  he's  going  down  for.''  "Well, 
v/ell,  the  masther  was  kind  to  the  boy  as- 
tonishing."   "Poor  lad,  there's  a  heart  at  him!" 

Meanwhile  Christian  was  clinging  to  the  bow- 
sprit. He  was  chilled  near  to  losing  his  hold. 
He  saw  Danny  with  the  rope  and  wondered  if 
he  would  ever  reach  them.  His  companion — 
some  said  it  was  the  mate,  Davy  Cain — saw  him 
also,  and  the  poor  fellow  was  so  transported  by 
the  prospect  of  deliverance  that  he  died  on  the 
instant,  and  was  swept  away.  Only  Christian 
now  remained.  Ever)'  moment  the  waves 
washed  over  him.  He  was  numbed  past  feeling. 
His  haadls  were  swelled  to  jtwice  their  size. 
Wondering  if  when  Danny  reached  him  with  the 


220     SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

rope  he  would  have  strength  enoug-h  to  grip  it, 
he  lost  consciousness. 

When  within  a  yard  of  the  bow  of  the  boat, 
Danny  leaped  and  landed  on  the  deck.  The 
people  had  held  their  breath  while  he  descended. 
Now  a  great  cheer  went  up  on  the  shore  and  on 
the  cliff.  It  rang  out  above  the  clamor  of  the 
wind  and  the  hiss  of  the  thrashing  billows.  But 
Danny  heard  it  not.  His  thoughts  were  of 
Mona  was  praying  that  strength  might  be  grant- 
heart.  As  surely  as  if  he  heard  it  with  his  carnal 
ear,  Danny  knew  that  even  at  that  moment 
Mona  was  praying  that  strength  mignt  be  grant- 
ed him,  and  that  he  might  be  blessed  in  the 
mercy  of  God  forever. 

He  lifted  Christian  in  his  arms.  The  swelled 
hands  had  next  to  no  hold  now.  Then  the  lad 
set  his  face  afresh  to  the  cruel,  black,  steep 
rocks.  Once  again  a  s/hower  of  spray  hid  from 
the  people.  When  tlie  white  cloud  had  fallen 
back  he  could  be  seen  half-way  up  the  rock, 
dragging  Christian  on  one  arm  after  him. 

Could  none  help  him?  Yes;  twenty  hands  set 
out  at  this  moment,  nine-tenths  of  the  peril  past. 
The  tide  'had  left  a  wide  bank  across  the  highest 
part  of  the  strait,  and  the  water  was  running  out 
on  both  sides. 

Danny  was  helped  up,  but  he  would  not  re- 
linquish his  burden.    Walking  feebly,  he  carried 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME,  221 

Christian,  who  was  still  insensible,  along  the 
narrow  path  under  the  east  wall  back  to  the 
shore.  The  crowd  divided  for  'him.  He  saw 
Mona,  where  she  stood  with  clasped  hands  be- 
side Balladhoo.  Making  his  way  to  her,  lie 
laid  Christian  at  her  feet. 

Danny's  life's  work  was  done.  He  had  given 
back  to  the  woman  who  was  all  the  world  to  him 
the  man  she  loved. 

Mona  dropped  to  her  knees  beside  Christian, 
and  kissed  him  tenderly.  Danny  stood  apart  in 
silence,  and  amid  all  that  throng  saw  Mona 
alone  Then  ihe  turned  his  head  .aside  and 
looked  away  over  the  sea.  Only  Heaven  knew 
what  his  thoughts  were  in  that  bitter  hour — 
that  blessed  hour — that  hour  of  sorrow  and  of 
glory.  In  this  world  his  days  were  done.  For 
Kisseck's  death,  what  remained  to  him  among 
men?  Without  Mona's  love,  what  was  left  to 
him  on  earth? 

Christian  returned  to  consciousness.  Alona 
rose  up  and  took  Danny's  hand.  She  would 
have  put  her  arms  around  his  neck,  but  he  drew 
away,  and  turned  his  eyes  again  towards  the 
sea.  The  longing  look  came  back,  but  no  tear 
would  start,  for  the  gift  of  tears  had  gone  forever. 

The  hum  of  human  voices  arose  above  them. 
''Poor  tad,  and  his  uncle  dead,  too.''  "Kisseck?" 
'"Aw,  yes,  Kisseck."  "Xo."  "Yes,  though — and 


222  SHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

shot,  they're  savin'."  "Never."  "Who  shot  him?'' 
"There's  no  one  knowing  that." 

A  loud,  unearthly  peal  of  laug'hter  was  heard 
above  the  noise  o>f  the  people  and  the  tumult  of 
the  storm.  Every  one  turned  to  look  for  Danny. 
He  had  gone.  The  next  moment  he  was  seen 
at  the  water's  edge  pushing  off  the  dingy  of  the 
lugger.  He  leaped  into  it  and  picked  up  an  oar. 
But  the  ebbing  tide  needed  no  such  help.  It 
caught  the  boat  and  carried  it  away  on  a  huge 
billow  wdiite  with  foam.  In  a  minute  it  was  rid- 
ing far  out  into  the  dark  void  beyond. 

Tliein  Al'ona  Iremembelred  Danny's  strange 
words  two  days  ago,  "I  think  at  whiles  I'd  like  to 
die  in  a  big  sea  like  thait." 

Next  da}^ — Christmas-day — ^when  the  bleared 
sun  was  smking  over  the  western  bar  of  the  deep 
lone  sea,  and  Danny's  gorse  fire  on  the  clifif- 
head  was  smouldering  out,  a  boat  was  washed 
ashore  in  the  Poolvash — empty,  capsized.  It 
was  the  dingy  of  the  Ben-my-Chree ! 


SHE'S  ALL  THE  WOULD  TO  ME.  223 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THREE  YEARS  AFTER, 

One  scene  more. 

It  was  the  morning  of  a  summer's  day.  The 
sunshine  danced  bewitchingly  over  the  sea,  that 
lay  drowsily  under  the  wide  vault  of  a  blue  sky. 
Lambent,  lan-giiid,  white,  earth  and  air  slept 
together. 

A  soothing  and  dreamy  haze  rested  on  the  lit- 
tle town  of  Peel. 

Brighter  than  the  sunshine,  fresher  that  the 
salt  breath  of  the  sea,  a  little  girl  of  eight  tripped 
over  the  paved  and  crabbed  streets.  In  one 
band  she  swung  a  straw  hat  overflowing  with 
flowers.  By  the  other  she  held  a  fair-haired 
boy,  who  was  just  old  enough  to  trot  along  at 
■her  side.  The  stout  little  man  carried  a  mighty 
'Spade  across  one  shoulder,  and  the  hand  that 
held  the  hand  of  his  sister  held  also  a  bucket 
heavily  laden  with  perhaps  a  teaspK>onful  of  sand. 
At  one  moment  the  maiden  exercising  the  grave 
duties  of  a  guardian,  stopped,  and  volunteered 
to  relieve  the  little  chap  of  this  burden;  but,  of 


224  ISHE'S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME. 

course,  he  resented  the  humihating'  tender  with 
proper  masculine  dignity.  Then  they  tripped 
on. 

They  were  making  for  the  Market-place,  and 
when  they  reached  It  they  turned  in  at  the  church 
gates.  Many  a  green  grave  lay  there  bathed  in 
the  sunbeams;  and  many  a  simple  stone,  moss- 
grown  and  discolored,  looking  brighter  on  this 
brilliant  day.  An  old  man  sat  on  a  tomb  and 
leaned  forward  on  a  stick.  He  seemed  to  doze 
in  the  light  and  warmth ;  but  as  the  little  people 
passed  him,  he  fumbled  at  his  hat  and  smiled, 
through  his  teethless  gums. 

'"At's  Billy,"  said  the  little  fellow,  with  an  air 
of  knowledge. 

The  children  walked  to  the  south-west  angle 
of  the  dhurch,  and  stopped  before  a  white  marble 
slab  embedded  in  the  wall.  There  was  no  grave 
beneath  it.  Tossed  on  the  shimmering  waters 
that  stretched  aw^ay  miles  on  miles  in  front  of  it, 
or  resting  calmly  in  that  ocean  bed,  was  all  that 
remained  of  him  to  whom  this  stone  was  raised. 

The  little  maiden  cast  her  flowers  in  front  of 
it.  The  little  boy,  too,  must  needs  cast  his  flow- 
ers also.  Then  he  looked  up  with  his  great  blue 
wondering  eyes  at  the  letters  of  the  inscription. 
They  ran: 

TO  DEAR  DANNY  IN  HEAVEN. 

The  tide  w^as  just  on  the  turn  and  the  murmur 


8HE\S  ALL  THE  WORLD  TO  ME.  22$ 

of  the  first  receding  waves  began  to  break  the  si- 
lence. 

''Listen  "  said  the  Httle  woman,  with  Hfted  fin- 
ger. 

"I  'ikes  the  sea,"  said  the  boy. 

The  children  turned  to  go.  "Come,  Danny," 
said  she. 

"Ees,  Ruby,"  he  hsped. 

When  Dhey  reached  the  gate  the  Httle  feet 
tripped  faster  over  the  stones,  and  a  silvery  voice 
sang: 

''Sweet  violets,  and  primroses  the  sweetest." 
THE  END. 


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